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AUTUMN:  FROM   THE  JOURNAL 
OF  HENRY  D.  THOREAU. 

EDITED   BY   H.  G.  O.  BLAKE 


"  This  world  is  no  blot  for  us 
Nor  blank ;  it  means  intensely  and  means  good  ; 
To  find  its  meaning  is  my  meat  and  drink." 

BROWNING,  Fra  Lippo  TAppi. 

"  In  the  last  stage  of  civilization,  poetry,  religion  and  philosophy  will  be 
one,  and  there  are  glimpses  of  this  truth  in  the  first."  —  THOBEAU.  December 
17,  1837. 


BOSTON    AND   NEW    YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 


1892 


Copyright,  1892, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 


All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


PREFACE. 


WITH  the  present  volume,  the  four  seasons,  as 
they  are  represented  in  Thoreau's  journal,  are 
nominally  completed,  though  but  a  part  of  the 
Spring  and  Summer  has  been  given,  and  much 
has  been  omitted  in  all  the  four  volumes  printed. 

As  I  have  said  before,  my  own  interest  in  the 
journal  is  in  the  character  and  genius  of  the 
writer,  rather  than  in  any  account  of  the  phe 
nomena  of  nature.  According  to  Thoreau's  own 
view,  such  a  journal  is,  in  the  strictest  sense,  an 
autobiography.  "  Our  thoughts,"  he  says,  "  are 
the  epochs  in  our  lives ;  all  else  is  but  as  a  jour 
nal  of  the  winds  that  blew  while  we  were  here." 
And  again  in  this  volume,  under  October  21, 
1857,  "  Is  not  the  poet  bound  to  write  his  own 
biography  ?  Is  there  any  other  work  for  him  but 
a  good  journal  ?  We  do  not  wish  to  know  how 
his  imaginary  hero,  but  how  he  the  actual  hero, 
lived  from  day  to  day."  As  the  "  Week  on  the 


878 


IV  PREFACE. 

Concord  and  Merrimack  Rivers,"  though  describ 
ing  a  voyage  very  limited  as  to  time  and  dis 
tance,  yet  from  its  intermingling  of  thought  with 
loving  observation  and  poetic  description  seems  a 
far-reaching  journey,  so  these  oft-repeated  walks 
and  boating  excursions  in  and  about  Concord,  to 
Fair  Haven,  the  Cliffs,  Conantum,  etc.,  abound 
in  more  genuine  life,  more  of  the  true  spirit  of 
travel,  than  the  most  varied  adventures  of  ordi 
nary  travelers  in  distant  lands.  One  may  have 
visited  other  continents,  and  yet  never  gone  so 
far. 

In  continuing  to  publish  these  volumes,  I  feel 
sure  of  an  eager  and  earnest  company  of  read 
ers,  though  not  a  very  large  one.  I  have  also 
the  satisfaction  of  discharging  a  duty  which 
seemed  to  devolve  upon  me  by  inheritance, 
thus  making  better  known  a  life  which  has  been 
to  me  for  so  many  years  of  the  deepest  interest, 
which  in  the  hurry  and  rush  of  our  present  civi 
lization  is  certainly  well  worth  attending  to,  a 
life  which,  however  partial,  as  every  finite  life 
must  be,  points  so  clearly  and  steadily  towards 
the  highest  ideal.  Here  was  a  young  man,  with 
a  liberal  education  and  little  or  no  pecuniary 


PREFACE.  V 

means,  who  on  entering  the  world  determined 
not  to  throw  obstacles  in  the  way  of  his  true 
life  by  attempting  to  earn  such  a  living  and 
such  a  position  as  the  usages  of  society  set  be 
fore  him.  The  cheerful  serenity  which  appears 
in  his  writings,  as  it  did  in  his  manners  and 
conversation,  shows  how  successful  was  this  plan 
for  him,  —  how  with  simple  wants  and  in  ob 
scurity  he  enjoyed  the  wealth  of  the  world.  He 
knew  early,  with  little  experience,  through  the 
intimations  of  his  genius,  how  false  the  aims  of 
society  are ;  that  real  success  is  not  in  proportion 
to  the  property  and  distinction  one  acquires,  but 
to  the  degree  in  which  he  finds  heaven  here  upon 
earth,  though  this  idea  was  not  expressed  by 
him  in  the  language  of  religion.  Many  persons 
talk  in  '  this  way,  listen  approvingly  to  such 
preaching,  but  fall  in  with  the  current.  The 
remarkable  thing  about  this  man  is  that  though 
not  a  church-goer,  not  caring  for  the  institutions 
of  religion,  he  yet  regarded  it  as  the  clear  dic 
tate  of  wisdom  thus  to  make  the  most  of  life, 
and  acted  upon  his  conviction.  In  view  of 
these  things,  the  charge  of  egotism  and  selfish 
ness  will  at  once  spring  to  the  lips  of  many. 


vi  PEEFACE. 

But  probably  few  of  us  know  better  than  he 
did,  that  an  unworthy  self-regard  is  fatal  to  the 
object  he  had  in  view. 

"  Renounce  joy  for  my  fellow's  sake  ?    That 's  joy 
Beyond  joy." 

Though  deeply  interested  and  sometimes  ac 
tive  in  the  cause  of  human  freedom,  he  com 
monly  took  little  part  in  works  of  philanthropy 
and  reform.  Had  he  done  otherwise,  we  should 
probably  have  lost  from  his  character  somewhat 
of  that  strong  personal  element  which,  though 
more  quiet  in  its  operation  than  associated 
schemes  of  reform,  is  doubtless  the  most  power 
ful  influence  in  the  progress  of  mankind. 

THE  EDITOR. 


AUTUMN. 


September  21,  1854.  I  sometimes  seem  to 
myself  to  owe  all  my  little  success,  all  for  which 
men  commend  me,  to  my  vices.  I  am  perhaps 
more  willful  than  others,  and  make  enormous 
sacrifices  even  of  others'  happiness,  it  may  be,  to 
gain  my  own  ends.  It  would  seem  as  if  nothing 
good  could  be  accomplished  without  some  vice 
to  aid  in  it. 

Sept.  21,  1859.  Heard  in  the  night  a  snap 
ping  sound,  and  the  fall  of  some  small  body  on 
the  floor  from  time  to  time.  In  the  morning  I 
found  it  was  produced  by  the  witch-hazel  nuts 
on  my  desk  springing  open  and  casting  their 
seeds  quite  across  my  chamber,  hard  and  stony 
as  these  nuts  were.  For  several  days  they  are 
shooting  black  seeds  about  my  chamber.  ...  I 
suspect  that  it  is  not  when  the  witch-hazel  nut 
first  gapes  open  that  the  seeds  fly  out,  for  I  see 
many,  if  not  most  of  them,  open  first  with  the 
seeds  in  them ;  but  when  I  release  a  seed,  it  be 
ing  still  held  by  its  base,  it  flies,  as  I  have  said. 


2  AUTUMN. 

I  think  that  its  slippery  base  is  compressed  by 
the  unyielding  shell  which  at  length  expels  it, 
just  as  I  can  make  one  fly  by  pressing  it,  and 
letting  it  slip  from  between  my  thumb  and 
finger.  It  appears  to  fit  close  to  the  shell  at  its 
base,  even  after  the  shell  gapes. 

The  ex-plenipotentiary  refers  in  after  speeches 
with  complacency  to  the  time  he  spent  abroad, 
and  the  various  lords  and  distinguished  men  he 
met,  as  to  a  deed  done,  and  an  ever  memora 
ble  occasion.  Of  what  account  are  titles  and 
offices  and  opportunities,  if  you  do  no  memora 
ble  deed? 

Sept.  21,  1860.  ...  P.M.  To  Easterbrook 
country.  .  .  .  The  pods  of  the  broom  are  nearly 
half  of  them  open.  I  perceive  that  one  just  ready 
to  open  opens  with  a  slight  spring,  on  being 
touched,  and  the  pod  curls  a  little.  I  suspect 
that  such  seeds  as  these,  which  the  winds  do  not 
transport,  will  turn  out  to  be  more  sought  by  the 
birds,  etc.,  and  so  transported  by  them,  than 
those  lighter  ones  which  are  furnished  with  a 
pappus,  and  so  transported  by  the  wind ;  i.  e., 
that  those  which  the  wind  takes  are  less  gener 
ally  the  food  of  birds  and  quadrupeds  than  the 
heavier  and  wingless  seeds. 

Sept.  22,  1852.  .  .  .  In  love  we  impart  each 
to  each,  in  subtlest,  immaterial  form  of  thought 
or  atmosphere,  the  best  of  ourselves,  such  as 


AUTUMN.  3 

commonly  vanishes  or  evaporates  in  aspirations, 
and  mutually  enrich  each  other.  The  lover  alone 
perceives  and  dwells  in  a  certain  human  fra 
grance.  To  him  humanity  is  not  only  a  flavor, 
but  an  aroma  and  a  flavor  also. 

Sept.  22,  1854.  .  .  .  p.  M.  Over  Nawshaw- 
tuck.  The  river  is  peculiarly  smooth,  and  the 
water  clear  and  sunny,  as  I  look  from  the  stone 
bridge.  A  painted  tortoise,  with  his  head  out, 
outside  of  the  weeds,  looks  as  if  resting  in  the 
air  in  that  attitude,  or  suggests  it,  at  an  angle  of 
45°,  with  head  and  flippers  outstretched.  .  .  . 
As  I  look  off  from  the  hilltop,  I  wonder  if  there 
are  any  finer  days  in  the  year  than  these,  the  air 
is  so  fine  and  bracing.  The  landscape  has  ac 
quired  some  fresh  verdure  withal.  The  frosts 
come  to  ripen  the  days  like  fruits,  persimmons. 
.  .  .  Crossing  the  hill  behind  Minott's  just  as 
the  sun  is  preparing  to  dip  below  the  horizon, 
the  thin  haze  in  the  atmosphere  north  and  south 
along  the  western  horizon  reflects  a  purple  tinge, 
and  bathes  the  mountains  with  the  same,  like  a 
bloom  on  fruits.  I  wonder  if  this  phenomenon 
is  observed  in  warmer  weather,  or  before  the 
frosts  have  come.  Is  it  not  another  evidence  of 
the  ripe  day  ?  I  saw  it  yesterday.  .  .  . 

By  moonlight  all  is  simple.  We  are  enabled 
to  erect  ourselves,  our  minds,  on  account  of  the 
fewness  of  objects.  We  are  no  longer  distracted. 


4  AUTUMN. 

It  is  simple  bread  and  water.  It  is  simple  as 
the  rudiments  of  an  art,  a  lesson  to  be  taken  be 
fore  sunlight,  perchance,  to  prepare  us  for  that. 
Sept.  22,  1858.  A  clear,  cold  day.  .  .  . 
Leave  Salem  for  Cape  Ann  on  foot.  .  .  .  One 
mile  southeast  of  the  village  of  Manchester 
struck  the  beach  of  "musical  sand,"  just  this 
side  of  a  large,  high,  rocky  point  called  Eagle 
Head !  This  is  a  curving  beach  ;  may  be  one 
third  of  a  mile  long  and  some  twelve  rods  wide. 
We  found  the  same  kind  of  sand  on  a  similar 
but  shorter  beach  on  the  east  side  of  Eagle 
Head.  We  first  perceived  the  sound  when  we 
scratched  with  an  umbrella  or  the  finger  swiftly 
and  forcibly  through  the  sand ;  also  still  louder 
when  we  struck  forcibly  with  our  heels,  "  scuf 
fing  "  along.  The  wet  or  damp  sand  yielded  no 
peculiar  sound,  nor  did  that  which  lay  loose  and 
deep  next  the  bank,  but  only  the  more  compact 
and  dry.  The  sound  was  not  at  all  musical,  nor 
was  it  loud.  Fishermen  might  walk  over  it  all 
their  lives,  as  indeed  they  have  done,  without 

noticing  it.     E ,  who  had  not  heard  it,  was 

about  right  when  he  said  it  was  like  that  made 
by  rubbing  wet  glass  with  your  finger.  I 
thought  it  as  much  like  the  sound  made  in  wax 
ing  a  table  as  anything.  It  was  a  squeaking 
sound,  as  of  one  particle  rubbing  on  another.  I 
should  say  it  was  merely  the  result  of  the  fric- 


AUTUMN.  5 

tion  of  peculiarly  formed  and  constituted  parti 
cles.  The  surf  was  high  and  made  a  great  noise, 
yet  I  could  hear  the  sound  made  by  my  com 
panion's  feet  two  or  three  rods  distant,  and  if  it 
had  been  still,  probably  could  have  heard  it  five 
or  six  rods. 

Sept.  22,  1860.  .  .  .  Some  of  the  early  bot 
anists,  like  Gerard,  were  prompted  and  com 
pelled  to  describe  their  plants,  but  most  now 
adays  only  measure  them,  as  it  were.  The 
former  is  affected  by  what  he  sees,  and  so  in 
spired  to  portray  it ;  the  latter  merely  fills  out  a 
schedule  prepared  for  him,  makes  a  description 
pour  servir.  I  am  constantly  assisted  by  the 
books  in  identifying  a  particular  plant  and 
learning  some  of  its  humbler  uses,  but  I  rarely 
read  a  sentence  in  a  botany  which  reminds  me 
of  flowers  or  living  plants.  Very  few,  indeed, 
write  as  if  they  had  seen  the  thing  which  they 
pretend  to  describe. 

Sept.  23,  1855.  8  p.  M.  I  hear  from  my 
chamber  a  screech-owl  about  Monroe's  house, 
this  bright  moonlight  night,  —  a  loud,  piercing 
scream,  much  like  the  whinner  of  a  colt,  per 
haps,  a  rapid  trill,  then  subdued  or  smothered,  a 
note  or  two. 

Sept.  23,  1859.  .  .  .  What  an  array  of  non- 
producers  society  produces !  .  .  .  Many  think 
themselves  well  employed  as  charitable  dispens- 


6  AUTUMN. 

ers  of  wealth  which  somebody  else  earned,  and 
these  who  produce  nothing,  being  of  the  most 
luxurious  habits,  are  precisely  they  who  want 
the  most,  and  complain  loudest  when  they  do  not 
get  what  they  want.  They  who  are  literally 
paupers,  maintained  at  the  public  expense,  are 
the  most  importunate  and  insatiable  beggars. 
They  cling  like  the  glutton  to  a  living  man  and 
suck  his  vitals  up.  To  any  locomotive  man 
there  are  three  or  four  deadheads  clinging, 
as  if  they  conferred  a  great  favor  on  society 
by  living  upon  it.  Meanwhile,  they  fill  the 
churches,  and  die  and  revive  from  time  to  time. 
They  have  nothing  to  do  but  sin  and  repent  of 
their  sins.  How  can  you  expect  such  blood 
suckers  to  be  happy? 

Not  only  foul  and  poisonous  weeds  grow  in 
our  tracks,  but  our  vileness  and  luxuriance 
make  simple,  wholesome  plants  rank  and  weed- 
like.  All  that  I  ever  got  a  premium  for  was  a 
monstrous  squash,  so  coarse  that  nobody  could 
eat  it.  Some  of  these  bad  qualities  will  be  found 
to  lurk  in  the  pears  that  are  invented  in  the 
neighborhood  of  great  towns.  "  The  evil  that 
men  do  lives  after  them."  The  corn  and  pota 
toes  produced  by  excessive  manuring  may  be 
said  to  have  not  only  a  coarse,  but  a  poisonous 
quality.  .  .  .  What  creatures  is  the  grain  raised 
in  the  cornfields  of  Waterloo  for,  unless  it  be 


AUTUMN.  1 

for  such  as  prey  upon  men  ?  Who  cuts  the 
grass  in  the  graveyard  ?  I  can  detect  the  site 
of  the  shanties  that  have  stood  all  along  the 
railroad  by  the  ranker  vegetation.  I  do  not  go 
there  for  delicate  wild  flowers.  It  is  important, 
then,  that  we  should  air  our  lives  by  removals, 
excursions  into  the  fields  and  woods.  Starve 
your  vices.  Do  not  sit  so  long  over  any  cellar 
hole  as  to  tempt  your  neighbor  to  bid  for  the 
privilege  of  digging  saltpetre  there.  So  live 
that  only  the  most  beautiful  wild  flowers  will 
spring  up  where  you  have  dwelt,  harebells,  vio 
lets,  and  blue-eyed  grass. 

Sept.  23,  1860.  ...  I  hear  that  a  large  owl, 
probably  a  cat-owl,  killed  and  carried  off  a  full- 
grown  turkey  in  Carlisle,  a  few  days  ago. 

Sept.  24,  1851 8  A.  M.  To  Lee's  Bridge 

via  Conantum.  It  is  a  cool  and  windy  morning, 
and  I  have  donned  a  thick  overcoat  for  a  walk. 
The  wind  is  from  the  north,  so  that  the  tele 
graph  harp  does  not  sound  where  I  cross.  .  .  . 
This  windy,  autumnal  weather  is  very  exciting 
and  bracing,  clear  and  cold  after  the  rain  of  yes 
terday,  it  having  cleared  off  in  the  night.  .  .  . 
The  river  washes  up  stream  before  the  wind, 
with  white  streaks  of  foam  on  its  dark  surface 
diagonally  to  its  course,  showing  the  direction 
of  the  wind.  Its  surface,  reflecting  the  sun,  is 
dazzlingly  bright.  The  outlines  of  the  hills  are 


8  AUTUMN. 

remarkably  distinct  and  fine,  and  their  surfaces 
bare  and  hard,  not  clothed  with  a  thick  air.  I 
notice  one  red  tree,  a  red  maple,  against  the 
woodside  in  Conant's  meadow.  It  is  a  far 
brighter  red  than  the  blossoms  of  any  tree  in 
summer,  and  more  conspicuous.  The  huckle 
berry  bushes  on  Conantum  are  all  turned  red. 

What  can  be  handsomer  for  a  picture  than 
our  river  scenery  now!  First  this  smoothly 
shorn  meadow  on  the  west  side  of  the  stream, 
looking  from  Conantum  Cliff,  with  all  the 
swaths  distinct,  sprinkled  with  apple-trees  cast 
ing  heavy  shadows,  black  as  ink,  such  as  can  be 
seen  only  in  this  clear  air,  this  strong  light,  one 
cow  wandering  restlessly  about  in  it,  and  low 
ing  ;  then  the  blue  river,  scarcely  darker  than, 
and  hardly  to  be  distinguished  from,  the  sky, 
its  waves  driven  southward  or  up  stream  by  the 
wind,  making  it  to  appear  to  flow  that  way, 
bordered  by  willows  and  button  bushes ;  then 
the  narrow  meadow  beyond,  with  varied  lights 
and  shades  from  its  waving  grass,  which  for 
some  reason  has  not  been  cut  this  year,  though 
so  dry,  now  at  length  each  grass-blade  bending 
south  before  the  wintry  blast,  as  if  looking  for 
aid  in  that  direction  ;  then  the  hill,  rising  sixty 
feet  to  a  terrace-like  plain,  covered  with  shrub 
oaks,  maples,  etc.,  now  variously  tinted,  clad  all 
in  a  livery  of  gay  colors,  each  bush  a  feather  in 


AUTUMN.  9 

its  cap ;  and  further  in  the  rear,  the  wood- 
crowned  cliff,  some  two  hundred  feet  high, 
where  gray  rocks  here  and  there  project  from 
amidst  the  bushes,  with  its  orchard  on  the 
slope ;  and  to  the  right  of  the  cliff  the  distant 
Lincoln  hills  in  the  horizon;  the  landscape  so 
handsomely  colored,  the  air  so  clear  and  whole 
some,  and  the  surface  of  the  earth  so  pleasingly 
varied  that  it  seems  rarely  fitted  for  the  abode 
of  man. 

Sept.  24,  1858.  [Salem.]  .  .  .  Saw  at  the 
East  India  Marine  Hall  a  Bay  lynx  killed  in 
Danvers  July  21st  (I  think  in  1827)  ;  an 
other  killed  in  Lynnfield  in  March,  1832. 
These  skins  were  now,  at  any  rate,  quite  light, 
dirty  whitish,  or  white  wolfish  color,  with  small 
pale  brown  spots.  The  animals  much  larger 
than  I  expected.  Saw  a  large  fossil  turtle, 
some  twenty  inches  in  diameter,  with  the  plates 
distinct,  in  a  slate-colored  stone  from  western 
New  York  ;  also  a  sword  in  its  scabbard,  found 
in  the  road  near  Concord,  April  19,  1775,  and 
supposed  to  have  belonged  to  a  British  officer. 

Sept.  24,  1859.  P.  M.  To  Melvin's  Preserve. 
...  I  have  many  affairs  to  attend  to,  and  feel 
hurried  these  days.  Great  works  of  art  have 
endless  leisure  for  a  background,  as  the  universe 
has  space.  Time  stands  still  while  they  are 
created.  The  artist  cannot  be  in  a  hurry.  The 


10  AUTUMN. 

earth  moves  round  the  sun  with  inconceivable 
rapidity,  and  yet  the  surface  of  the  lake  is  not 
ruffled  by  it.  It  is  not  by  compromise,  it  is  not 
by  a  timid  and  feeble  repentance,  that  a  man  will 
save  his  soul,  and  live  at  last.  He  must  conquer 
a  clear  field,  letting  Repentance  &  Co.  go,  that 
well-meaning  but  weak  firm  that  has  assumed 
the  debts  of  an  old  and  worthless  one.  You 
are  to  fight  in  a  field  where  no  allowances  will 
be  made,  no  courteous  bowing  to  one-handed 
knights.  You  are  expected  to  do  your  duty,  not 
in  spite  of  every  thing  but  one,  but  in  spite  of 
every  thing.  .  .  . 

Going  along  this  old  Carlisle  road  —  road  for 
walkers,  for  berry-pickers,  and  no  more  worldly 
travelers  ;  road  for  Melvin  and  Clark,  not  for  the 
sheriff,  nor  butcher,  nor  the  baker's  jingling 
cart;  road  where  all  wild  things  and  fruits 
abound,  where  there  are  countless  rocks  to  jar 
those  who  venture  in  wagons  ;  road  which  leads 
to  and  through  a  great  but  not  famous  garden, 
zoological  and  botanical,  at  whose  gate  you  never 
arrive,  —  as  I  was  going  along  there,  I  perceived 
the  grateful  scent  of  the  Dicksonia  fern  now 
partly  decayed.  It  reminds  me  of  all  up  coun 
try,  with  its  springy  mountain  sides  and  unex 
hausted  vigor.  Is  there  any  essence  of  Dick 
sonia  fern,  I  wonder?  Surely  that  giant  who 
my  neighbor  expects  is  to  bound  up  the  Alle- 


AUTUMN.  11 

ghanies  will  have  his  handkerchief  scented  with 
that.  The  sweet  fragrance  of  decay !  When  I 
wade  through  by  narrow  cow-paths,  it  is  as  if  I 
had  strayed  into  an  ancient  and  decayed  herb 
garden.  Nature  perfumes  her  garments  with 
this  essence  now  especially.  She  gives  it  to 
those  who  go  a-barberrying  and  on  dank  au 
tumnal  walks.  The  very  scent  of  it,  if  you 
have  a  decayed  frond  in  your  chamber,  will  take 
you  far  up  country  in  a  twinkling.  You  would 
think  you  had  gone  after  the  cows  there,  or  were 
lost  on  the  mountains.  It  is  the  scent  the  earth 
yielded  in  the  saurian  period,  before  man  was 
created  and  fell,  before  milk  and  water  were  in 
vented,  and  the  mints.  Rana  sylvatica  passed 
judgment  on  it,  or  rather  that  peculiarly  scented 
Rana  palustris.  It  was  in  his  reign  it  was  in 
troduced. 

A  man  must  attend  to  nature  closely  for  many 
years  to  know  when,  as  well  as  where,  to  look 
for  his  objects,  since  he  must  always  anticipate 
her  a  little.  Young  men  have  not  learned  the 
phases  of  nature.  They  do  not  know  what  con 
stitutes  a  year,  or  that  one  year  is  like  another. 
I  would  know  when  in  the  year  to  expect  certain 
thoughts  and  moods,  as  the  sportsman  knows 
when  to  look  for  plover. . 

Though  you  may  have  sauntered  near  to 
heaven's  gate,  when  at  length  you  return  toward 


12  AUTUMN. 

the  village  you  give  up  the  enterprise  a  little, 
and  you  begin  to  fall  into  the  old  ruts  of  thought, 
like  a  regular  roadster.  Your  thoughts  very 
properly  fail  to  report  themselves  to  headquar 
ters.  They  turn  toward  night  and  the  evening 
mail,  and  become  begrimed  with  dust,  as  if  you 
were  just  going  to  put  up  at  (with  ?)  the  tavern, 
or  had  even  come  to  make  an  exchange  with  a 
brother  clergyman  on  the  morrow. 

That  old  Carlisle  road,  which  leaves  towns  be 
hind  ;  where  you  put  off  worldly  thoughts ;  where 
you  do  not  carry  a  watch  nor  remember  the  pro 
prietor  ;  where  the  proprietor  is  the  only  tres 
passer,  looking  after  his  apples,  the  only  one  who 
mistakes  his  calling  there,  whose  title  is  not 
good ;  where  fifty  may  be  a-barberrying,  and  you 
do  not  see  one.  It  is  an  endless  succession  of 
glades  where  the  barberries  grow  thickest,  suc 
cessive  yards  amid  the  barberry  bushes  where  you 
do  not  see  out.  There  I  see  Melvin  and  the 
robins,  and  many  a  nut-brown  maid.  The  lonely 
horse  in  its  pasture  is  glad  to  see  company,  comes 
forward  to  be  noticed,  and  takes  an  apple  from 
your  hand.  Others  are  called  great  roads,  but 
this  is  greater  than  they  all.  It  is  only  laid 
out,  offered  to  walkers,  not  accepted  by  the 
town  and  the  traveling  jvorld  ;  to  be  represented 
by  a  dotted  line  on  charts,  not  indicated  by 
guideboards,  undiscoverable  by  the  uninitiated, 
that  it  may  be  wild  to  a  warm  imagination. 


AUTUMN.  13 

Nature,  the  earth  herself,  is  the  only  panacea. 
They  bury  poisoned  sheep  up  to  the  neck  in 
earth  to  take  the  poison  out  of  them. 

Sept.  25,  1840.  Birds  were  very  naturally 
made  the  subject  of  augury,  for  they  are  but 
borderers  upon  the  earth,  creatures  of  another 
and  more  ethereal  element  than  our  existence 
can  be  supported  in,  which  seem  to  flit  between 
us  and  the  unexplored. 

Prosperity  is  no  field  for  heroism  unless  it 
endeavor  to  establish  an  independent  and  super 
natural  prosperity  for  itself.  In  the  midst  of 
din  and  tumult  and  disorder  we  hear  the  trum 
pet  sound.  Defeat  is  heaven's  success.  We 
cannot  be  said  to  succeed  to  whom  the  world 
shows  any  favor.  In  fact,  it  is  the  hero's  point 
d'appui,  which,  by  offering  resistance  to  his 
action,  enables  him  to  act  at  all.  At  each  step 
he  spurns  the  world.  He  vaults  the  higher  in 
proportion  as  he  employs  the  greater  resistance 
of  the  earth.  It  is  fatal  when  an  elevation  has 
been  gained  by  too  wide  a  concession,  retaining 
no  point  of  resistance ;  for  the  hero,  like  the 
aeronaut,  must  float  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds, 
or  cannot  sail  and  steer  himself  for  calm  weather. 
When  we  rise  to  the  step  above,  we  tread  hard 
est  on  the  step  below. 

My  friend  must  be  my  tent  companion. 

Sept.  25,  1851.     I  am  astonished  to  find  how 


14  AUTUMN. 

much  travelers  both  in  the  east  and  west  per 
mit  themselves  to  be  imposed  on  by  a  name  ;  that 
the  traveler  in  the  east,  for  instance,  presumes 
so  great  a  difference  between  one  Asiatic  and 
another,  because  one  bears  the  title  of  Christian, 
and  the  other  not.  At  length  he  comes  to  a  sect 
of  Christians,  Armenians  or  Nestorians,  predi 
cates  of  them  a  far  greater  civilization,  civility, 
and  humanity  than  of  their  neighbors,  I  suspect 
not  with  much  truth.  At  that  distance,  and 
therefore  impartially  viewed,  I  see  but  little 
difference  between  a  Christian  and  a  Mahometan, 
and  thus  I  perceive  that  European  and  Ameri 
can  Christians  are  precisely  like  these  heathen 
ish  Armenian  and  Nestorian  Christians ;  not 
Christians,  of  course,  in  any  true  sense,  but  one 
other  heathenish  sect  in  the  west,  the  difference 
between  whose  religion  and  that  of  the  Mahom 
etans  is  very  slight  and  unimportant.  That 
nation  is  not  Christian  where  the  principles  of 
humanity  do  not  prevail,  but  the  prejudice  of 
race.  I  expect  the  Christian  not  to  be  super 
stitious,  but  to  be  distinguished  by  the  clearness 
of  his  knowledge,  the  strength  of  his  faith,  the 
breadth  of  his  humanity.  A  man  of  another 
race,  an  African,  for  instance,  comes  to  Amer 
ica  to  travel  through  it,  and  he  meets  with  treat 
ment  exactly  similar  to  or  worse  than  that  which 
the  American  meets  with  among  the  Turks, 


AUTUMN.  15 

Arabs,  and  Tartars.  The  traveler  in  both  cases 
finds  the  religion  to  be  a  mere  superstition  and 
frenzy  or  rabidness. 

Examined  a  hornets'  nest  suspended  from 
contiguous  huckleberry  bushes.  The  tops  of 
the  bushes  appearing  to  grow  out  of  it,  little 
leafy  sprigs,  had  a  pleasing  effect.  It  was  an 
inverted  cone,  eight  or  nine  inches  by  seven 
or  eight.  I  found  no  hornets  buzzing  about  it. 
Its  entrance  appeared  to  have  been  enlarged,  so 
I  concluded  it  had  been  deserted,  but,  looking 
nearer,  I  discovered  two  or  three  dead  hornets, 
men  of  war,  in  the  entry  way.  Cutting  off  the 
bushes  which  sustained  it,  I  proceeded  to  open 
it  with  my  knife.  First  there  were  half  a  dozen 
layers  of  waved  brownish  paper  resting  loosely 
on  one  another,  occupying  nearly  an  inch  in 
thickness,  for  a  covering.  Within  were  the  six- 
sided  cells  in  three  stories,  suspended  from  the 
roof  and  from  one  another  by  one  or  two  suspen 
sion  rods  only,  the  lower  story  much  smaller 
than  the  rest ;  and  in  what  may  be  called  the 
attic  of  the  structure  were  two  live  hornets, 
appearing  partially  benumbed  with  cold,  but 
which  in  the  sun  seemed  rapidly  recovering 
themselves.  Most  of  the  cells  were  empty,  but 
in  some  were  young  hornets  still,  their  heads 
projecting,  apparently  still-born,  perhaps  over 
taken  unexpectedly  by  cold  weather.  These 


16  AUTUMN. 

insects  appear  to  be  very  sensible  to  cold.  The 
inner  circles  were  of  whitish,  the  outer  of  gray 
ish,  paper. 

In  these  cooler,  windier,  crystal  days,  the  note 
of  the  jay  sounds  a  little  more  native.  Stand 
ing  on  the  cliffs,  I  see  them  flitting  and  scream 
ing  from  pine  to  pine  beneath.  Hawks,  too,  I 
perceive,  sailing  about  in  the  clear  air,  looking 
white  against  the  green  pines,  like  the  seeds  of 
the  milkweed.  There  is  almost  always  a  pair  of 
hawks.  Their  shrill  scream „  and  that  of  the 
owls  and  wolves  are  related  to  each  other. 

Sept.  25,  1852.  The  scarlet  of  the  dogwood 
is  the  most  conspicuous  and  interesting  of  the 
autumnal  colors  at  present.  You  can  now 
easily  detect  them  at  a  distance.  Every  one  in 
the  swamps  you  have  overlooked  is  revealed. 
The  smooth  sumach  and  the  mountain  ash  are  a 
darker,  deeper,  bloodier  red.  Found  the  fringed 
gentian  November  7th  last  year. 

Sept.  25,  1854.  I  suspect  that  I  know  on 
what  the  brilliancy  of  the  autumnal  tints  will 
depend.  On  the  greater  or  less  drought  of  the 
summer.  If  the  drought  has  been  uncommonly 
severe,  as  this  year,  I  should  think  it  would  so 
far  destroy  the  vitality  of  the  leaf  that  it  would 
attain  only  to  a  dull,  dead  color  in  autumn  ;  that 
to  become  brilliant  in  autumn,  the  plant  should 
be  full  of  sap  and  vigor  to  the  last. 


AUTUMN.  17 

Do  I  see  a  Fringilla  hiemalis  in  the  Deep 
Cut  ?  It  is  a  month  earlier  than  last  year. 

I  am  detained  by  the  very  bright  red  black 
berry  leaves  strewn  along  the  sod,  the  vine  be 
ing  inconspicuous.  How  they  spot  it ! 

On  the  shrub  oak  plain  as  seen  from  the  Cliffs, 
the  red  at  least  balances  the  green.  It  looks 
like  a  rich,  shaggy  rug  now,  before  the  woods 
are  changed. 

There  was  a  splendid  sunset  while  I  was  on 
the  water,  beginning  at  the  Clamshell  reach. 
All  the  lower  edge  of  a  very  broad  dark  slate 
cloud,  which  reached  backward  almost  to  the 
zenith,  was  lit  up  through  and  through  with  a 
dun  golden  fire,  the  sun  being  below  the  hori 
zon,  like  a  furze  plain  densely  on  fire  a  short 
distance  above  the  horizon.  There  was  a  clear 
pale  robin 's-egg  sky  beneath,  and  some  little 
clouds,  on  which  the  light  fell,  high  in  the  sky, 
but  nearer,  seen  against  the  upper  part  of  the 
distant,  uniform,  dark  slate  one,  were  of  a  fine 
grayish  silver  color,  with  fine  mother-of-pearl 
tints,  unusual  at  sunset  (?).  The  furze  gradually 
burnt  out  on  the  lower  edge  of  the  cloud, 
changed  into  a  smooth,  hard,  pale  pink  ver 
milion,  which  gradually  faded  into  a  gray,  sat 
iny  pearl,  a  fine  Quaker  color.  All  these  colors 
were  prolonged  in  the  rippled  reflection  to  five 
or  six  times  their  proper  length.  The  effect 


18  AUTUMN. 

was  particularly  remarkable  in  the  case  of  the 
reds,  which  were  long  bands  of  red  perpendicu 
lar  in  the  water. 

Sept.  25,  1855.  In  the  evening  went  to 

Welch's  (?)  circus  with  C .  Approaching, 

I  perceived  the  peculiar  scent  which  belongs  to 
such  places,  a  certain  sourness  in  the  air,  sug 
gesting  trodden  grass  and  cigar  smoke.  The 
curves  of  the  great  tent,  at  least  eight  or  ten 
rods  in  diameter,  the  main  central  curve,  and 
wherever  it  rested  on  a  post,  suggested  that  the 
tent  was  the  origin  of  much  of  the  Oriental 
architecture,  —  the  Arabic,  perhaps.  There  was 
the  pagoda  in  perfection.  It  is  remarkable 
what  graceful  attitudes  feats  of  strength  and 
agility  seem  to  require. 

Sept.  25,  1859.  p.  M.  To  Emerson's  Cliff. 
Holding  a  white  pine  needle  in  my  hand  and 
turning  it  in  a  favorable  light  as  I  sit  upon  this 
cliff,  I  perceive  that  each  of  its  three  edges  is 
notched  or  serrated  with  minut^  forward-point 
ing  bristles.  So  much  does  nature  avoid  an 
unbroken  line  that  even  this  slender  leaf  is 
serrated,  though,  to  my  surprise,  neither  Gray 
nor  Bigelow  mentions  it.  Loudon,  however, 
says,  "  Scabrous  and  inconspicuously  serrated  in 
the  margin ;  spreading  in  summer,  but  in  whiter 
contracted,  and  lying  close  to  the  branches." 
Fine  and  smooth  as  it  looks,  it  is  serrated,  after 


AUTUMN.  19 

all.  This  is  its  concealed  wildness,  by  which 
it  connects  with  the  wilder  oaks. 

Sept.  26,  1840.  The  day,  for  the  most  part, 
is  heroic  only  when  it  breaks. 

Every  author  writes  in  the  faith  that  his  book 
is  to  be  the  final  resting-place,  and  sets  up  his 
fixtures  as  for  a  more  than  Oriental  permanence  ; 
but  it  is  only  a  caravansary,  which  we  soon  leave 
without  ceremony.  We  read  on  his  sign  only 
refreshment  for  man  and  beast,  and  a  drawn 
hand  directs  to  Ispahan  or  Bagdad. 

Sept.  26, 1852.  Dreamed  of  purity  last  night. 
The  thoughts  seemed  not  to  originate  with  me, 
but  I  was  invested,  my  thought  was  tinged  by 
another's  thought.  It  was  not  I  that  originated, 
but  I  that  entertained  the  thought.  P.  M.  To 
Ministerial  Swamp.  The  small  cottony  leaves 
of  fragrant  everlasting  in  the  fields  for  some 
time,  protected,  as  it  were,  by  a  little  web  of 
cotton  against  frost  and  snow;  a  little  dense 
web  of  cotton  spun  over  it,  entangled  in  it,  as  if 
to  restrain  it  from  rising  higher. 

The  increasing  scarlet  and  yellow  tints  around 
the  meadows  and  river  remind  me  of  the 
opening  of  a  vast  flower  bud.  They  are  the 
petals  of  its  corolla,  which  are  of  the  width  of 
the  valleys.  It  is  the  flower  of  autumn,  whose 
expanding  bud  just  begins  to  blush.  As  yet, 
however,  in  the  forest  there  are  very  few 
changes  of  foliage. 


20  AUTUMN. 

The  Polygonum  articulatum,  giving  a  rosy 
tinge  to  Jenny's  desert,  is  very  interesting  now, 
with  its  slender  dense  racemes  of  rose-tinted 
flowers,  apparently  without  leaves,  rising  cleanly 
out  of  the  sand.  It  looks  warm  and  brave,  a 
foot  or  more  high,  and  mingled  with  deciduous 
blue  curls.  It  is  much  divided  into  many- 
spreading,  slender-racemed  branches,  with  in 
conspicuous  linear  leaves,  reminding  me,  both 
by  its  form  and  its  colors,  of  a  peach  orchard  in 
blossom,  especially  when  the  sunlight  falls  on 
it  ;  minute  rose-tinted  flowers  that  brave  the 
frosts,  and  advance  the  summer  into  fall,  warm 
ing  with  their  color  sandy  hillsides  and  deserts, 
like  the  glow  of  evening  reflected  on  the  sand ; 
apparently  all  flower  and  no  leaf.  Rising  appar 
ently  with  clean  bare  stems  from  the  sand,  it 
spreads  out  into  this  graceful  head  of  slender 
rosy  racemes,  wisp-like.  This  little  desert  of 
less  than  an  acre  blushes  with  it. 

The  tree  fern  is  in  fruit  now,  with  its  delicate 
tendril-like  fruit,  climbing  three  or  four  feet 
over  the  asters,  golden-rods,  etc.,  on  the  edge  of 
the  swamp.  The  large  ferns  are  yellow  or 
brown  now.  Larks,  like  robins,  fly  in  flocks. 
Succory  in  bloom;  ...  it  bears  the  frost  well, 
though  we  have  not  had  much. 

Sept.  26,  1854.  It  is  a  warm  and  very  plea 
sant  afternoon.  I  walk  along  the  river-side  in 


AUTUMN.  21 

Merrick's  pasture.  Some  single  red  maples  are 
very  splendid  now ;  the  whole  tree  bright  scarlet 
against  the  cold  green  pines,  while  very  few  trees 
are  changed,  is  a  most  remarkable  object  in  the 
landscape,  seen  a  mile  off.  It  is  too  fair  to  be 
believed,  especially  seen  against  the  light.  Some 
are  a  reddish  or  else  greenish  yellow,  others  with 
red  or  yellow  cheeks.  I  suspect  that  the  yellow 
maples  had  not  scarlet  blossoms. 

Sept.  26,  1857.  P.  M.  Up  river  to  Clam 
shell.  These  are  warm,  serene,  bright  autumn 
afternoons.  I  see  far  off  the  various  -  colored 
gowns  of  cranberry  pickers  against  the  green 
of  the  meadow.  The  river  stands  a  little  way 
over  the  grass  again,  and  the  summer  is  over. 
The  pickerel  weed  is  brown,  and  I  see  muskrat 
houses.  I  see  a  large  black  cricket  on  the  river, 
a  rod  from  shore,  and  a  fish  is  leaping  at  it.  As 
long  as  the  fish  leaps  it  is  motionless,  as  if  dead  ; 
but  as  soon  as  it  feels  my  paddle  under  it,  it  is 
lively  enough.  I  sit  on  Clamshell  bank  and 
look  over  the  meadows.  Hundreds  of  crickets 
have  fallen  into  a  sandy  gully,  and  now  are 
incessantly  striving  to  creep  or  leap  up  again  on 
the  sliding  sand,  out  of  this  dusty  road  into 
those  bare  solitudes  which  they  inhabit ;  such 
their  business  this  September  afternoon. 

I  watch  a  marsh  hawk  circling  low  along  the 
edge  of  the  meadow,  looking  for  a  frog,  and 
now  at  last  it  alights  to  rest  on  a  tussock. 


22  AUTUMN, 

Coming  home,  the  sun  is  intolerably  warm  on 
my  left  cheek.  I  perceive  it  is  because  the  heat 
of  the  reflected  sun,  which  is  as  bright  as  the 
real  one,  is  added  to  that  of  the  real  one,  for 
when  I  cover  the  reflection  with  my  hand  the 
1  heat  is  less  intense. 

That  cricket  seemed  to  know  that  if  he  lay 
quietly  spread  out  on  the  surface,  either  the 
fishes  would  not  suspect  him  to  be  an  insect,  or, 
if  they  tried  to  swallow  him,  would  not  be  able. 
What  blundering  fellows  these  crickets  are, 
both  large  and  small !  They  are  not  only  tum 
bling  into  the  river  all  along  shore,  but  into 
this  sandy  gully,  to  escape  from  which  is  a  Sisy 
phus  labor.  I  have  not  sat  there  many  minutes, 
watching  two  foraging  crickets  which  have  de 
cided  to  climb  up  two  tall  and  slender  weeds 
almost  bare  of  branches,  as  a  man  shins  up  a 
liberty  pole  sometimes,  when  I  find  that  one  has 
climbed  to  the  summit  of  my  knee.  They  are 
incessantly  running  about  on  the  sunny  bank. 
Their  still  larger  cousins,  the  mole  crickets,  are 
creaking  loudly  and  incessantly  all  along  the 
shore.  Others  have  eaten  themselves  cavern 
ous  apartments,  sitting-room  and  pantry  at  once, 
in  windfall  apples. 

Speaking  to  Rice  of  that  cricket's  escape,  he 
said  that  he  once,  with  several  others,  saw  a 
small  striped  snake  swim  across  a  piece  of  water 


AUTUMN.  23 

about  half  a  rod  wide  to  a  half-grown  bull-frog 
which  sat  on  the  opposite  shore,  and  attempt  to 
seize  him,  but  he  found  that  he  had  caught  a 
Tartar,  for  the  bull-frog,  seeing  him  coming,  was 
not  afraid  of  him,  but  at  once  seized  his  head  in 
his  mouth  and  closed  his  jaws  upon  it,  and  he 
thus  held  the  snake  a  considerable  time  before 
the  latter  was  able,  by  struggling,  to  get  away. 
When  that  cricket  felt  my  oar  he  leaped  without 
the  least  hesitation,  or  perhaps  consideration, 
trusting  to  fall  in  a  pleasanter  place.  He  was 
evidently  trusting  to  drift  against  some  weed 
which  should  afford  him  a  point  d'appui. 

Sept.  26,  1858.  I  observe  that  the  seeds  of 
the  Panicum  sanguinale  smdjiliforme  are  per 
haps  half  fallen,  evidently  affected  by  the  late 
frosts  as  chestnuts,  etc.,  will  be  by  later  ones ; 
and  now  is  the  time,  too,  when  flocks  of  sparrows 
begin  to  scour  over  the  weedy  fields,  especially 
in  the  morning.  I  fancy  they  are  attracted  to 
some  extent  by  this  thin  harvest  of  panic  seed. 
The  spikes  of  Panicum  crus-galli  also  are  par 
tially  bare.  Evidently  the  small  graminivorous 
birds  abound  more  after  these  seeds  are  ripe. 
The  seeds  of  the  pigweed  are  yet  apparently 
quite  green.  May  be  they  are  somewhat  pecu 
liar  for  hanging  on  all  winter. 

Sept.  26,  1859.  To  Clamshell  by  boat.  The 
Solanum  Dulcamara  berries  are  another  kind 


24  AUTUMN. 

which  grows  in  drooping  clusters.  I  do  not  know 
any  clusters  more  graceful  and  beautiful  than 
these  drooping  cymes  of  scarlet  or  translucent, 
cherry-colored  elliptical  berries,  with  steel-blue 
or  lead-colored  (?)  purple  pedicels  (not  pedun 
cles)  like  the  leaves  on  the  tips  of  the  branches. 
No  berries,  I  think,  are  so  well  spaced  and 
agreeably  arranged  in  their  drooping  cymes, 
somewhat  hexagonally,  like  a  honeycomb.  Then 
what  a  variety  of  color !  The  peduncle  and  its 
branches  are  green,  the  pedicels  and  sepals  only 
that  rare  steel-blue  purple,  and  the  berries  a 
clear,  translucent  cherry-red.  They  hang  more 
gracefully  over  the  river's  brim  than  any  pend 
ant  in  a  lady's  ear.  Yet  they  are  considered 
poisonous ;  not  to  look  at,  surely.  Is  it  not  a  re 
proach  that  so  much  that  is  beautiful  is  poison 
ous  to  us  ?  But  why  should  they  not  be  poi 
sonous  ?  Would  it  not  be  bad  taste  to  eat  these 
berries  which  are  ready  to  feed  another  sense  ? 

Sept.  27,  1852.  p.  M.  To  C.  Smith's  Hill. 
The  flashing  clearness  of  the  atmosphere.  More 
light  appears  to  be  reflected  from  the  earth,  less 
absorbed. 

At  Saw  Mill  Brook  many  finely  cut  and  flat 
ferns  are  faded  whitish  and  very  handsome,  as  if 
pressed ;  very  delicate. 

The  touch-me-not  seed  vessels  go  off  like 
pistols,  shoot  their  seeds  off  like  bullets.  They 
explode  in  my  hat. 


AUTUMN.  25 

The  arum  berries  are  now  in  perfection, — 
cone-shaped  spikes  one  and  a  half  inches  long, 
of  scarlet  or  vermilion-colored,  irregular,  some 
what  pear-shaped  berries  springing  from  a  pur 
plish  core.  They  are  exactly  the  color  of  bright 
sealing-wax,  on  club-shaped  peduncles.  The 
changed  leaves  are  delicately  white,  especially 
beneath.  Here  and  there  lies  prostrate  on  the 
damp  leaves  or  ground  this  conspicuous  red 
spike.  The  medeola  berries  are  common  now, 
and  the  large  red  berries  of  the  panicled  Solo 
mon's  seal. 

It  must  have  been  a  turtle-dove  that  eyed  me 
so  near,  turned  its  head  sidewise  to  me  for  a 
fair  view,  looking  with  a  St.  Vitus  twitching  of 
its  neck,  as  if  to  recover  its  balance  on  an  un 
stable  perch.  That  is  their  way. 

From  Smith's  Hill  I  looked  toward  the  moun 
tain  line.  Who  can  believe  that  the  mountain 
peak  which  he  beholds  fifty  miles  off  in  the 
horizon,  rising  far  and  faintly  blue  above  an  in 
termediate  range,  while  he  stands  on  his  trivial 
native  hills  or  in  the  dusty  highway,  can  be  the 
same  as  that  which  he  looked  up  at  once  near  at 
hand  from  a  gorge  in  the  midst  of  primitive 
woods  !  For  a  part  of  two  days  we  traveled 
across  lots,  loitering  by  the  way,  through  primi 
tive  woods  and  swamps,  over  the  highest  peak 
of  the  Peterboro'  Hills  to  Monadnock,  by  ways 


26  AUTUMN. 

from  which  all  landlords  and  stage-drivers  en 
deavored  to  dissuade  us.  It  was  not  a  month 
ago.  But  now  that  I  look  across  the  globe  in 
an  instant  to  that  dim  Monadnock  peak,  and 
these  familiar  fields  and  copse-woods  appear  to 
occupy  the  greater  part  of  the  interval,  I  cannot 
realize  that  Joe  Evely's  house  still  stands  there 
at  the  base  of  the  mountain,  and  that  I  made 
the  long  tramp  through  the  woods  with  invigor 
ating  scents  before  I  got  to  it.  I  cannot  real 
ize  that  on  the  tops  of  those  cool  blue  ridges 
are  berries  in  abundance  still,  bluer  than  them 
selves,  as  if  they  borrowed  their  blueness  from 
their  locality.  From  the  mountains  we  do  not 
discern  our  native  hills,  but  from  our  native  hills 
we  look  out  easily  to  the  far  blue  mountain  which 
seems  to  preside  over  them.  As  I  look  north 
westward  to  that  summit  from  a  Concord  corn 
field,  how  little  can  I  realize  all  the  life  that  is 
passing  between  me  and  it,  the  retired  up-country 
farmhouses,  the  lonely  mills,  wooded  vales,  wild 
rocky  pastures,  new  clearings  on  stark  moun 
tain  sides,  and  rivers  murmuring  through  primi 
tive  woods.  I  see  the  very  peak,  —  there  can  be 
no  mistake,  —  but  how  much  I  do  not  see  that  is 
between  me  and  it !  In  this  way  we  see  stars. 
What  is  it  but  a  faint  blue  cloud,  a  mist  that 
may  vanish  !  But  what  is  it,  on  the  other  hand, 
to  one  who  has  traveled  to  it  day  after  day,  has 


AUTUMN.  27 

threaded  the  forest  and  climbed  the  hills  that 
are  between  this  and  that,  has  tasted  the  rasp 
berries  and  the  blueberries  that  grow  on  it 
and  the  springs  that  gush  from  it,  has  been 
wearied  with  climbing  its  rocky  sides,  felt  the 
coolness  of  its  summit,  and  been  lost  in  the 
clouds  there. 

When  I  could  sit  in  a  cold  chamber,  muffled 
in  a  cloak,  each  evening  till  Thanksgiving  time, 
warmed  by  my  own  thoughts,  the  world  was  not 
so  much  with  me. 

Sept.  27, 1855.  Yesterday  I  traced  the  note  of 
what  I  have  falsely  thought  the  liana  palustris, 
or  cricket  frog,  to  its  true  source.  As  usual  it 
sounded  loud  and  incessant  above  all  ordinary 
crickets,  and  led  me  at  once  to  a  bare  and  soft 
sandy  shore.  After  long  looking  and  listening, 
with  my  head  directly  over  the  spot  from  which 
the  sound  still  came  at  intervals,  as  I  had  often 
done  before,  I  concluded,  as  no  creature  was  vis 
ible,  that  it  must  issue  from  the  mud,  or  rather 
slimy  sand.  I  noticed  that  the  shore  near  the 
water  was  upheaved  and  cracked  as  by  a  small 
mole  track,  and,  laying  it  open  with  my  hand, 
I  found  a  mole  cricket,  Gryllotalpa  breviformis. 
Harris  says  their  burrows  "  usually  terminate 
beneath  a  stone  or  clod  of  turf."  They  live  on 
the  roots  of  grass  and  other  vegetables,  and  in 
Europe  the  corresponding  species  does  a  great 


28  AUTUMN. 

deal  of  harm.  They  "  avoid  the  light  of  day, 
and  are  active  chiefly  during  the  night ; "  have 
their  burrows  "  in  moist  and  soft  ground,  partic 
ularly  about  ponds."  "There  are  no  house 
crickets  in  America."  Among  crickets,  "  the 
males  only  are  musical."  The  "  shrilling  "  is 
produced  by  shuffling  their  wing  coverts  to 
gether  lengthwise.  The  French  call  crickets 
cri-cri.  Most  of  them  die  on  the  approach  of 
winter,  but  a  few  survive  under  stones. 

See  furrows  made  by  many  clams  now  moving 
into  deep  water. 

Some  single  red  maples  now  fairly  make  a 
show  along  the  meadow.  I  see  a  blaze  of  red 
reflected  from  the  troubled  water. 

Sept.  27,  1856.  The  bluebird  family  revisit 
their  box  and  warble  as  in  spring. 

p.  M.  To  Clamshell  by  boat.  It  is  a  very 
fine  afternoon  to  be  on  the  water,  somewhat  In 
dian-summer-like.  I  do  not  know  what  consti 
tutes  the  peculiarity  and  charm  of  this  weather ; 
the  broad  water  so  smooth  notwithstanding  the 
slight  wind,  as  if  owing  to  some  oiliness  the  wind 
slid  over  without  rippling  it.  There  is  a  slight 
coolness  in  the  air,  yet  the  sun  is  occasionally 
very  warm.  I  am  tempted  to  say  that  the  air 
is  singularly  clear,  yet  I  see  it  is  quite  hazy. 
Perhaps  there  is  that  transparency  it  is  said  to 
possess  when  full  of  moisture,  before  or  after 


AUTUMN.  29 

rain.  Through  this  I  see  the  trees  beginning  to 
put  on  their  October  colors,  and  the  creak  of 
the  mole  cricket  sounds  late  along  the  shore. 

The  Aster  multiflorus  may  be  easily  con 
founded  with  the'  Aster  tradescanti.  Like  it,  it 
whitens  the  roadside  in  some  places.  It  has 
purplish  disks,  but  a  less  straggling  top  than 
the  tradescanti. 

Sept.  27,  1857.  How  out  of  all  proportion 
to  the  value  of  an  idea,  when  you  come  to  one, 
in  Hindoo  literature  for  instance,  is  the  histori 
cal  fact  about  it,  the  when,  where,  etc.,  it  was 
actually  expressed,  and  what  precisely  it  might 
signify  to  a  sect  of  worshipers !  Anything  that 
is  called  history  of  India  or  of  the  world  is  im 
pertinent  beside  any  real  poetry  or  inspired 
thought  which  is  dateless. 

White  birches  have  fairly  begun  to  yellow, 
and  blackberry  vines  here  and  there  in  sunny 
places  look  like  a  streak  of  blood  in  the  grass. 
I  sit  on  the  hillside  at  Miles's  Swamp.  A  wood 
bine,  investing  the  leading  stem  of  an  elm  in  the 
swamp  quite  to  its  top,  is  seen  as  an  erect,  slen 
der  red  column  through  the  thin  and  yellowing 
foliage  of  the  elm.  As  I  sit  there,  I  see  the 
shadow  of  a  hawk  flying  above  and  behind  me. 
I  think  I  see  more  hawks  nowadays.  Perhaps 
it  is  both  because  the  young  are  grown,  and 
their  food,  the  small  birds,  are  flying  in  flocks 


30  AUTUMN. 

and  are  abundant.  I  need  only  sit  still  a  few 
minutes  on  any  spot  which  overlooks  the  river 
meadows  before  I  see  some  black  circling  mote 
beating  along  the  meadow's  edge,  now  lost  for  a 
moment  as  it  turns  edgewise  in  a  peculiar  light, 
now  reappearing  farther  or  nearer. 

It  is  most  natural,  i.  e.,  most  in  accordance 
with  the  natural  phenomena,  to  suppose  that 
North  America  was  discovered  from  the  northern 
part  of  the  eastern  continent,  for  a  study  of  the 
range  of  plants,  birds,  and  quadrupeds  points  to 
a  connection  on  that  side.  Many  birds  are  com 
mon  to  the  northern  parts  of  both  continents. 
Even  the  passenger  pigeon  has  flown  across 
there  ;  and  some  European  plants  have  been  de 
tected  on  the  extreme  northeastern  coast  and 
islands,  which  do  not  extend  inland.  Men  in 
their  migrations  obey  the  same  law. 

Sept.  27,  1860.  Sawing  up  my  raft  by  river. 
Monroe's  tame  ducks  sail  along  and  feed  near 
me,  as  I  am  working  there.  Looking  up,  I  see 
a  little  dipper,  about  one  half  their  size,  in  the 
middle  of  the  river,  evidently  attracted  by  these 
tame  ducks  as  to  a  place  of  security.  I  sit  down 
and  watch  it.  The  tame  ducks  have  paddled 
four  or  five  rods  down  stream  along  the  shore. 
They  soon  detect  the  dipper  three  or  four  rods 
off,  and  betray  alarm  by  a  twittering  note,  espe 
cially  when  it  dives,  as  it  does  continually.  At 


AUTUMN.  31 

last,  when  it  is  two  or  three  rods  off,  and  ap 
proaching  them  by  diving,  they  all  rush  to  the 
shore  and  come  out  upon  it  in  their  fear ;  but 
the  dipper  shows  itself  close  to  the  shore,  and 
when  they  enter  the  water  again  joins  them 
within  two  feet,  still  diving  from  time  to  time, 
and  threatening  to  come  up  in  their  midst. 
They  return  up  stream  more  or  less  alarmed, 
and  pursued  in  this  wise  by  the  dipper,  who 
does  not  know  what  to  make  of  their  fears.  It 
is  thus  toled  along  to  within  twenty  feet  of 
where  I  sit,  and  I  can  watch  it  at  my  leisure. 
It  has  a  dark  bill,  and  considerable  white  on  the 
sides  of  the  head  or  neck  with  black  between, 
no  tufts,  and  no  observable  white  on  back  or  tail. 
When  at  last  disturbed  by  me,  it  suddenly  sinks 
low  (all  its  body)  in  the  water  without  diving. 
Thus  it  can  float  at  various  heights.  So,  on  the 
30th,  I  saw  one  suddenly  dash  along  the  surface 
from  the  meadow  ten  rods  before  me  to  the  mid 
dle  of  the  river,  and  then  dive,  and  though  I 
watched  fifteen  minutes  and  examined  the  tufts 
of  grass,  I  could  see  no  more  of  it. 

Sept.  28,  1840.  The  world  thinks  it  knows 
only  what  it  comes  in  contact  with,  and  whose 
repelling  points  give  it  a  configuration  to  the 
senses ;  a  hard  crust  aids  its  distinct  knowledge. 
But  what  we  truly  know  has  no  points  of  repul 
sion,  and  consequently  no  objective  form,  being 


32  AUTUMN. 

surveyed  from  within.  We  are  acquainted  with 
the  soul  and  its  phenomena  as  a  bird  with  the 
air  in  which  it  floats.  Distinction  is  superficial 
and  formal  merely.  We  touch  objects  as  the 
earth  we  stand  on,  but  the  soul  as  the  air  we 
breathe.  We  know  the  world  superficially,  but 
the  soul  centrally.  In  the  one  case  our  surfaces 
meet,  in  the  other  our  centres  coincide. 

Sept.  28,  1851.  Hugh  Miller,  in  his  "  Old 
Red  Sandstone,"  speaking  of  "  the  consistency 
of  style  which  obtains  among  the  ichthyolites  of 
this  formation "  and  the  "  microscopic  beauty 
of  these  ancient  fishes,"  says  :  "  The  artist  who 
sculptured  the  cherry-stone  consigned  it  to  a 
cabinet,  and  placed  a  microscope  beside  it ;  the 
microscopic  beauty  of  these  ancient  fishes  was 
consigned  to  the  twilight  depths  of  a  primeval 
ocean.  There  is  a  feeling  which  at  times  grows 
upon  the  painter  and  the  statuary,  as  if  the  per 
ception  and  love  of  the  beautiful  had  been  sub 
limed  into  a  kind  of  moral  sense.  Art  comes  to 
be  pursued  for  its  own  sake  :  the  exquisite  con 
ception  in  the  mind  or  the  elegant  and  elaborate 
model  becomes  all  in  all  to  the  worker,  and  the 
dread  of  criticism  or  the  appetite  for  praise  al 
most  nothing ;  and  thus,  through  the  influence  of 
a  power  somewhat  akin  to  conscience,  but  whose 
province  is  not  the  just  and  the  good,  but  the 
fair,  the  refined,  the  exquisite,  have  works,  pros- 


AUTUMN.  33 

ecuted  in  solitude,  and  never  intended  for  the 
world,  been  found  fraught  with  loveliness."  The 
hesitation  with  which  this  is  said,  to  say  no 
thing  of  its  simplicity,  betrays  a  latent  infidel 
ity,  more  fatal  far  than  that  of  the  "  Vestiges  of 
Creation  "  which  in  another  work  this  author  en 
deavors  to  correct.  He  describes  that  as  an  ex 
ception  which  is  in  fact  the  rule.  The  supposed 
want  of  harmony  between  "  the  perception  and 
love  of  the  beautiful "  and  a  delicate  moral  sense 
betrays  what  kind  of  beauty  the  writer  has  been 
conversant  with.  He  speaks  of  his  work  becom 
ing  all  in  all  to  the  worker  in  rising  above  the 
dread  of  criticism  and  the  appetite  of  praise,  as 
if  these  were  the  very  rare  exceptions  in  a  great 
artist's  life,  and  not  the  very  definition  of  it. 

2  p.  M.  To  Conantum.  For  a  week  or  ten 
days  I  have  ceased  to  look  for  new  flowers  or 
carry  my  Botany  in  my  pocket.  The  fall  dan 
delion  is  now  very  fresh  and  abundant,  in  its 
prime. 

This  swamp  [the  spruce  swamp  in  Conant's 
Grove]  contains  beautiful  specimens  of  the  side 
saddle  flower,  Sarracenia  purpurea,  better 
called  pitcher  plant.  The  leaves  ray  out  around 
the  dry  scape  and  flower,  which  still  remain,  rest 
ing  on  rich  uneven  beds  of  a  coarse  reddish 
moss,  through  which  the  small-flowered  androm- 
eda  puts  up,  presenting  altogether  a  most  rich 


34  AUTUMN. 

and  luxuriant  appearance  to  the  eye.  Though 
the  moss  is  comparatively  dry,  I  cannot  walk 
without  upsetting  the  numerous  pitchers,  which 
are  now  full  of  water,  and  so  wetting  my  feet. 
I  once  accidentally  sat  down  on  such  a  bed  of 
pitcher  plants,  and  found  an  uncommonly  wet 
seat  where  I  expected  a  dry  one.  These  leaves 
are  of  various  colors,  from  plain  green  to  a  rich 
striped  yellow  or  deep  red.  No  plants  are  more 
richly  painted  and  streaked  than  the  inside  of 
the  broad  lips  of  these.  Old  Josselyn  called  this 
"  hollow-leaved  lavender."  I  think  we  have  no 
other  plant  so  singular  and  remarkable. 

Here  was  a  large  hornets'  nest  which,  when  I 
went  to  take,  first  knocking  on  it  to  see  if  any 
body  was  at  home,  out  came  the  whole  swarm 
upon  me,  lively  enough.  I  do  not  know  why 
they  should  linger  longer  than  their  fellows 
whom  I  saw  the  other  day,  unless  because  the 
swamp  is  warmer.  They  were  all  within,  but 
not  working. 

What  honest,  homely,  earth-loving,  unaspiring 
houses  people  used  to  live  in !  —  that  on  Conan- 
tum,  for  instance,  so  low  you  can  put  your  hand 
on  the  eaves  behind.  There  are  few  whose  pride 
could  stoop  to  enter  such  a  house  to-day.  And 
then  the  broad  chimney,  built  for  comfort,  not 
for  beauty,  with  no  coping  of  bricks  to  catch  the 
eye,  no  alto  or  basso  relievo. 


AUTUMN.  35 

Sept.  28,  1852.  p.  M.  To  the  Boulder  Field. 
I  find  the  hood-leaved  violet  quite  abundant  in  a 
meadow,  and  the  pedata  in  the  Boulder  Field. 
Those  now  seen,  aU  but  the  blanda,  palmata,  and 
pubescens,  blooming  again.  Bluebirds,  robins, 
etc.,  are  heard  again  in  the  air.  This  is  the 
commencement,  then,  of  the  second  spring.  Vio 
lets,  Potentilla  Canadensis,  lambkill,  wild  rose, 
yellow  lily,  etc.,  begin  again. 

A  windy  day.     What  have  these  high  and 
roaring  winds  to  do  with  the  fall?     No  doubt 
they  speak  plainly  enough  to  the  sap  that  is  in 
these  trees,  and  perchance  check  its  upward  flow. 
Ah,  if  I  could  put   into   words   that   music 
which  I  hear ;  that  music  which  can  bring  tears 
to  the  eyes  of  marble  statues,  to  which  the  very 
muscles  of  men  are  obedient! 
^  Sept.  28,  1858.     P.  M.    To  Great  Fields  via 
Gentian  Lane.     The  gentian  (Andrewsi%)  now 
generally  in  prime,  on  low,  moist,  shady  banks. 
Its  transcendent  blue  shows  best  in  the  shade 
and  suggests  coolness ;  contrasts  there  with  the 
fresh  green ;  a  splendid  blue,  light  in  the  shade, 
turning  to  purple  with  age.     They  are  particu 
larly  abundant  under  the  north  side  of  the  wil 
low  row  in  Merrick's  pasture.     I  count  fifteen 
m  a  single  cluster  there,  and  afterward  twenty 
in  Gentian  Lane  near  Flint's  Bridge,  and  there 
were  other  clusters  below  ;  bluer  than  the  bluest 


36  AUTUMN. 

sky,  they  lurk  in  the  moist  and  shady  recesses  of 
the  banks. 

/Sept.  28,  1859.  In  proportion  as  a  man  has 
a  poor  ear  for  music,  or  loses  his  ear  for  it,  he 
is  obliged  to  go  far  for  it,  or  fetch  it  from  far, 
or  pay  a  great  price  for  such  as  he  can  hear. 
Operas  and  the  like  only  affect  him.  It  is  like 
the  difference  between  a  young  and  healthy 
appetite  and  the  appetite  of  an  epicure,  an  appe 
tite  for  a  sweet  crust  and  for  a  mock-turtle  soup. 

As  the  lion  is  said  to  lie  in  a  thicket  or  in  tall 
reeds  and  grass  by  day,  slumbering,  and  sally 
out  at  night,  just  so  with  the  cat.  She  will  en 
sconce  herself  for  the  day  in  the  grass  or  weeds 
in  some  out-of-the-way  nook  near  the  house,  and 
arouse  herself  toward  night. 

Sept.  29, 1840.  Wisdom  is  a  sort  of  mo.ngrel 
between  Instinct  and  Prudence,  which,  however, 
inclining  to  the  side  of  the  father,  will  finally 
assert  its  pure  blood  again,  as  the  white  race  at 
length  prevails  over  the  black.  It  is  minister 
plenipotentiary  from  earth  to  heaven,  but  occa 
sionally  Instinct,  like  a  born  celestial,  comes  to 
earth  and  adjusts  the  controversy. 

All  fair  action  in  man  is  the  product  of 
enthusiasm.  There  is  enthusiasm  in  the  sunset. 
The  shell  on  the  shore  takes  new  layers  and  new 
tints  from  year  to  year  with  such  rapture  as  the 
bard  writes  his  poem.  There  is  a  thrill  in  the 


AUTUMN.  37 

spring  when  it  buds  and  blossoms.  There  is  a 
happiness  in  the  summer,  a  contentedness  in  the 
autumn,  a  patient  repose  in  the  winter.  All  the 
birds  and  blossoms  and  fruits  are  the  product 
of  enthusiasm.  Nature  does  nothing  in  the  prose 
mood,  though  she  acts  sometimes  grimly,  with 
poetic  fury,  as  in  earthquakes,  etc.,  and  at  other 
times  humorously. 

Sept.  29,  1851.  The  intense  brilliancy  of 
the  red -ripe  maples  scattered  here  and  there 
in  the  midst  of  the  green  oaks  and  hickories 
on  the  hilly  shore  of  Walden  is  quite  charming. 
They  are  unexpectedly  and  incredibly  brilliant, 
especially  on  the  western  shore  and  close  to 
the  water's  edge,  where,  alternating  with  yellow 
birches  and  poplars  and  green  oaks,  they  remind 
me  of  a  line  of  soldiers,  redcoats  and  riflemen 
in  green  mixed  together. 

The  pine  is  one  of  the  richest  of  trees,  to  my 
eye.  It  stands  like  a  great  moss,  a  luxuriant 
mildew,  the  pumpkin  pine,  which  the  earth  pro 
duces  without  effort. 

Sept.  29, 1853.  The  witch-hazel  at  Lee's  Cliff, 
in  a  favorable  situation,  has  but  begun  to  blos 
som,  has  not  been  long  out,  so  that  I  think  it 
must  be  later  than  the  gentian.  Its  leaves  are 
yellowed.  Bluets  [Houstonia]  still.  Lambkill 
blossoms  again. 

Sept.  29,  1854.     When  I  look  at  the  stars, 


38  AUTUMN. 

nothing  which  the  astronomers  have  said  at 
taches  to  them,  they  are  so  simple  and  remote. 
Their  knowledge  is  felt  to  be  all  terrestrial,  and 
to  concern  the  earth  alone.  This  suggests  that 
the  same  is  the  case  with  every  object,  however 
familiar ;  our  so-called  knowledge  of  it  is  equally 
vulgar  and  remote.  One  might  say  that  all 
views  through  a  telescope  or  microscope  were 
purely  visionary,  for  it  is  only  by  his  eye,  and 
not  by  any  other  sense,  not  by  the  whole  man, 
that  the  beholder  is  there  where  he  is  presumed 
to  be.  It  is  a  disruptive  mode  of  viewing  so  far 
as  the  beholder  is  concerned. 

Sept.  29,  1856.  p.  M.  To  Grape  Cliff.  I  can 
hardly  clamber  along  this  cliff  without  getting 
my  clothes  covered  with  desmodium  ticks,  these 
especially,  the  rotundifolium  and  paniculatum. 
Though  you  were  running  for  your  life,  they 
would  have  time  to  catch  and  cling  to  your 
clothes,  often  the  whole  row  of  pods  of  the  Des 
modium  paniculatum,  like  a  piece  of  saw-blade 
with  three  teeth.  They  will  even  cling  to  your 
hand  as  you  go  by.  They  cling  like  babes  to  a 
mother's  breast,  by  instinct.  Instead  of  being 
caught  ourselves  and  detained  by  bird-lime,  we 
are  compelled  to  catch  these  seeds  and  carry 
them  with  us.  These  almost  invisible  nets,  as  it 
were,  are  spread  for  us,  and  whole  coveys  of 
desmodium  and  bid  ens  seeds  steal  transporta- 


AUTUMN.  39 

tion  out  of  us.  I  have  found  myself  often  cov 
ered,  as  it  were,  with  an  imbricated  coat  of  the 
brown  desmodium  seeds  or  a  bristling  chevaux- 
de-frise  of  beggar  ticks,  and  had  to  spend  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  or  more  picking  them  off  in 
some  convenient  spot ;  and  so  they  get  just  what 
they  wanted,  deposited  in  another  place.  How 
surely  the  desmodium  growing  on  some  rough 
cliff-side,  or  the  bidens  on  the  edge  of  a  pool, 
prophesy  the  coming  of  the  traveler,  brute  or 
human,  that  will  transport  their  seeds  on  his 
coat! 

Dr.  Reynolds  told  me  the  other  day  of  a  Can 
ada  lynx  (?)  killed  in  Andover,  in  a  swamp, 
some  years  ago,  when  he  was  teaching  school  in 
Tewksbury,  thought  to  be  one  of  a  pair,  the 
other  being  killed  or  seen  in  Derry.  Its  large 
track  was  seen  in  the  snow  in  Tewksbury,  and 
traced  to  Andover  and  back.  They  saw  where 
it  had  leaped  thirty  feet,  and  where  it  devoured 
rabbits.  It  was  on  a  tree  whjen  shot. 

Sept.  29,  1859.  Juniper  repens  berries  are 
quite  green  yet.  I  see  some  of  last  year's  dark 
purple  ones  at  the  base  of  the  branchlets.  There 
is  a  very  large  specimen  on  the  side  of  Fair 
Haven  Hill,  above  Cardinal  shore.  It  is  very 
handsome  this  bright  afternoon,  especially  if  you 
stand  on  the  lower  and  sunny  side,  on  account 
of  the  various  ways  in  which  its  surging  flakes 


40  AUTUMN. 

and  leaflets,  green  or  silvery,  reflect  the  light. 
It  is  as  if  we  were  giants  and  looked  down  on 
an  evergreen  forest  from  whose  flaky  surface 
the  light  is  variously  reflected.  Though  so 
low,  it  is  so  dense  and  rigid  that  neither  men 
nor  cows  think  of  wading  through  it.  We  got 
a  bird's-eye  view  of  this  evergreen  forest,  as  of 
a  hawk  sailing  over,  looking  into  its  inapproach 
able  clefts  and  recesses,  reflecting  a  green  or 
else  a  cheerful  silvery  light. 

Having  just  dug  my  potatoes  in  the  garden, 
which  did  not  turn  out  very  well,  I  took  a  bas 
ket  and  trowel  and  went  forth  to  dig  my  wild 
potatoes,  or  ground  nuts,  by  the  railroad  fence. 
I  dug  up  the  tubers  of  some  half  a  dozen  plants, 
and  found  an  unexpected  yield.  One  string 
weighed  a  little  more  than  three  quarters  of  a 
pound.  There  were  thirteen  that  I  should  have 
put  with  the  large  potatoes  this  year,  if  they 
had  been  the  common  kind.  The  biggest  was 
two  and  three  quarters  inches  long,  and  seven 
inches  in  circumference  the  smallest  way.  Five 
would  have  been  called  good-sized  potatoes.  It 
is  but  a  slender  vine,  now  killed  by  the  frost, 
and  not  promising  such  a  yield  ;  but  deep  in  the 
soil,  here  sand,  five  or  six  inches,  or  sometimes 
a  foot,  you  come  to  the  string  of  brown  and 
commonly  knobby  nuts.  The  cuticle  of  the 
tuber  is  more  or  less  cracked  longitudinally, 


AUTUMN.  41 

forming  meridional  furrows,  and  the  root  or 
shoot  bears  a  large  proportion  to  the  tuber.  In 
case  of  a  famine  I  should  soon  resort  to  these 
roots.  If  they  increased  in  size,  on  being  cul 
tivated,  as  much  as  the  common  potato,  they 
would  become  monstrous. 

Sept.  30,  1851.  The  white  ash  has  got  its 
autumnal  mulberry  hue.  What  is  the  autumnal 
tint  of  the  black  ash?  The  former  contrasts 
strongly  with  the  other  shade  trees  on  the  vil 
lage  street,  the  elms  and  buttonwoods,  at  this 
season,  looking  almost  black  at  the  first  glance. 
The  different  characters  of  the  trees  appear 
better  now,  when  their  leaves,  so  to  speak,  are 
ripe,  than  at  any  other  season ;  than  in  the  win 
ter,  for  instance,  when  they  are  little  remarka 
ble,  and  almost  uniformly  gray  or  brown,  or  in 
the  spring  and  summer,  when  they  are  undistin- 
guishably  green.  Now,  a  red  maple,  an  ash,  a 
white  birch,  a  Populus  grandidentata,  etc.,  is 
distinguished  almost  as  far  as  it  is  visible.  It 
is  with  leaves  as  with  fruits  and  woods,  animals 
and  men  :  when  they  are  mature,  their  different 
characters  appear. 

Sept.  30,  1852.  10  A.  M.  To  Fair  Haven 
Pond,  bee-hunting,  —  Pratt,  Rice,  Hastings,  and 
myself  in  a  wagon.  A  fine,  clear  day  after  the 
coolest  night  and  severest  frost  we  have  had. 
Our  apparatus  was  first  a  simple  round  tin  box, 


42  AUTUMN. 

about  four  and  a  half  inches  in  diameter  and 
one  and  a  half  inches  deep,  containing  a  piece 
of  empty  honeycomb  of  its  own  size  and  form, 
filling  it  within  one  third  of  an  inch  of  the 
top ;  then  a  wooden  box,  about  two  and  a  half 
inches  square,  with  a  glass  window  occupying 
two  thirds  of  the  upper  side  under  a  slide,  with 
a  couple  of  narrow  slits  in  the  wood,  each  side 
of  the  glass,  to  admit  air,  but  too  narrow  for 
the  bees  to  pass,  the  whole  resting  on  a  circular 
bottom  a  little  larger  than  the  lid  of  the  tin 
box,  with  a  sliding  door  in  it.  We  were  ear 
nest  to  go  this  week,  before  the  flowers  were 
gone,  and  we  feared  the  frosty  night  might 
make  the  bees  slow  to  come  forth.  .  .  .  After 
eating  our  lunch  we  set  out  on  our  return  [hav 
ing  been  unsuccessful  thus  far].  By  the  road 
side  at  Walden,  on  the  sunny  hillside  sloping 
to  the  pond,  we  saw  a  large  mass  of  golden-rod 
and  aster,  several  rods  square  and  comparatively 
fresh.  Getting  out  of  our  wagon,  we  found  it  to 
be  resounding  with  the  hum  of  bees.  It  was 
about  one  o'clock.  Here  were  far  more  flow 
ers  than  we  had  seen  elsewhere,  and  bees  in 
great  numbers,  both  bumble-bees  and  honey 
bees,  as  well  as  butterflies,  wasps,  and  flies.  So 
pouring  a  mixture  of  honey  and  water  into  the 
empty  comb  in  the  tin  box,  and  holding  the  lid 
of  the  tin  box  in  one  hand  and  the  wooden  box 


AUTUMN.  43 

with  the  slides  shut  in  the  other,  we  proceeded 
to  catch  the  honey-bees  by  shutting  them  in 
suddenly  between  the  lid  of  the  tin  box  and  the 
large  circular  bottom  of  the  wooden  one,  cutting 
off  the  flower  stem  with  the  edge  of  the  lid 
at  the  same  time.  Then  holding  the  lid  still 
against  the  wooden  box,  we  drew  the  slide  in 
the  bottom,  and  also  the  slide  covering  the  win 
dow  at  the  top,  that  the  light  might  attract  the 
bee  to  pass  up  into  the  wooden  box.  As  soon 
as  he  had  done  so,  and  was  buzzing  against  the 
glass,  the  lower  side  was  closed,  and  more  bees 
were  caught  in  the  same  way.  Then  placing 
the  open  tin  box  close  under  the  wooden  one, 
the  slide  was  drawn  again,  and  the  upper  slide 
closed,  making  it  dark,  and  in  about  a  min 
ute  they  went  to  feeding,  as  was  ascertained 
by  raising  slightly  the  wooden  box.  Then  the 
latter  was  wholly  removed,  and  they  were  left 
feeding  or  sucking  up  the  honey  in  broad  day 
light.  In  from  two  to  three  minutes  one  had 
loaded  himself  and  commenced  leaving  the  box. 
He  would  buzz  round  it  back  and  forth  a  foot 
or  more,  and  then  sometimes,  perhaps,  finding 
that  he  was  too  heavily  loaded,  alight  to  empty 
himself  or  clear  his  feet.  Then,  starting  once 
more,  he  would  circle  round  irregularly  at  first, 
in  a  small  circle,  only  a  foot  or  two  in  diameter, 
as  if  to  examine  the  premises,  that  he  might 


44  AUTUMN. 

know  them  again,  till  at  length,  rising  higher 
and  higher,  and  circling  wider  and  wider,  and 
swifter  and  swifter,  till  his  orbit  was  ten  or 
twelve  feet  in  diameter,  and  as  much  from  the 
ground,  though  its  centre  might  be  moved  to 
one  side  (all  this  as  if  to  ascertain  the  course  to 
his  nest),  in  a  minute  or  less  from  his  first  start 
ing,  he  darted  off  in  a  bee  line,  a  waving  or  sinu 
ous  line  right  and  left,  toward  his  nest ;  that  is, 
as  far  as  I  could  see  him,  which  might  be  eight 
or  ten  rods,  looking  against  the  sky.  You  had 
to  follow  his  whole  career  very  attentively  in 
deed,  to  see  when  and  where  he  went  off  at  a 
tangent.  It  was  very  difficult  to  follow  him, 
especially  if  you  looked  against  a  wood  or  the 
hill,  and  you  had  to  lie  low  to  fetch  him  against 
the  sky.  You  must  operate  in  an  open  place, 
not  in  a  wood.  We  sent  forth  as  many  as  a 
dozen  bees,  which  flew  in  about  three  directions, 
but  all  toward  the  village,  or  where  we  knew 
there  were  hives.  They  did  not  fly  almost 
straight,  as  I  had  heard,  but  within  three  or  four 
feet  of  the  same  course,  for  half  a  dozen  rods,  or 
as  far  as  we  could  see.  Those  belonging  to  one 
hive  all  had  to  digress  to  get  round  an  apple- 
tree.  As  none  flew  in  the  right  direction  for  us, 
we  did  not  attempt  to  line  them.  In  less  than 
half  an  hour  the  first  returned  to  the  box,  which 
was  lying  on  a  woodpile.  Not  one  of  the  bees 


AUTUMN.  45 

in  the  surrounding  flowers  had  discovered  it. 
So  they  came  back  one  after  another,  loaded 
themselves  and  departed.  But  now  they  went 
off  with  very  little  preliminary  circling,  as  if 
assured  of  their  course.  We  were  furnished  with 
little  boxes  of  red,  blue,  green,  yellow,  and  white 
paint  in  dry  powder,  and  with  a  stick  we  sprin 
kled  a  little  of  the  red  powder  on  the  back  of  one 
while  he  was  feeding,  gave  him  a  little  dab,  and 
it  settled  down  amid  the  fuzz  of  his  back,  and 
gave  him  a  distinct  red  jacket.  He  went  off 
like  most  of  them  toward  some  hives  about  three 
quarters  of  a  mile  distant,  and  we  observed,  by 
the  watch,  the  time  of  his  departure.  In  just 
twenty-two  minutes  red  jacket  came  back,  with 
enough  of  the  powder  still  on  his  back  to  mark 
him  plainly.  He  may  have  gone  more  than 
three  quarters  of  a  mile.  At  any  rate,  he  had 
a  head  wind  to  contend  with  while  laden.  They 
fly  swiftly  and  surely  to  their  nests,  never  resting 
by  the  way,  and  I  was  surprised,  though  I  had 
been  informed  of  it,  at  the  distance  to  which 
the  village  bees  go  for  flowers.  The  rambler  in 
the  most  remote  woods  and  pastures  little  thinks 
that  the  bees  which  are  humming  so  industri 
ously  on  the  rare  wild  flowers  he  is  plucking  for 
the  herbarium  in  some  out-of-the-way  nook,  are, 
like  himself,  ramblers  from  the  village,  perhaps 
from  his  own  yard,  come  to  get  their  honey  for 


46  AUTUMN. 

his  hives.  All  the  honey-bees  we  saw  were  on 
the  blue-stemmed  golden-rod,  Solidago  ccesia, 
which  lasts  long  and  which  emitted  a  sweet, 
agreeable  fragrance,  not  on  the  asters.  I  feel 
the  richer  for  this  experience.  It  taught  me 
that  even  the  insects  in  my  path  are  not  loafers, 
but  have  their  special  errands,  not  merely  and 
vaguely  in  this  world,  but  in  this  hour  each  is 
about  his  business.  If  there  are  any  sweet  flow 
ers  still  lingering  on  the  hillsides,  it  is  known 
to  the  bees,  both  of  the  forest  and  the  village. 
The  botanist  should  make  interest  with  the  bees 
if  he  would  know  when  the  flowers  open  and 
when  they  close.  Those  above  named  were  the 
only  common  and  prevailing  flowers  on  which  to 
look  for  them.  Our  red  jacket  had  performed 
the  voyage  in  safety.  No  bird  had  picked  him 
up.  Are  the  kingbirds  gone?  Now  is  the 
time  to  hunt  bees  and  take  them  up,  when  their 
combs  are  full  of  honey,  and  before  the  flowers 
are  so  scarce  that  they  begin  to  consume  the 
honey  they  have  stored.  Forty  pounds  of  honey 
was  the  most  our  company  had  got  hereabouts. 
We  also  caught  and  sent  forth  a  bumble-bee 
which  manoeuvred  like  the  others,  though  we 
thought  he  took  time  to  eat  some  before  he 
loaded  himself,  and  then  he  was  so  overloaded 
and  bedaubed  that  he  had  to  alight  after  he  had 
started,  and  it  took  him  several  minutes  to  clear 


AUTUMN.  47 

himself.  It  is  not  in  vain  that  the  flowers 
bloom,  and  bloom  late,  too,  in  favored  spots. 
To  us  they  are  a  culture  and  a  luxury,  but  to 
bees  meat  and  drink.  The  tiny  bee  which  we 
thought  lived  far  away  there  in  a  flower-bell,  in 
that  remote  vale,  is  a  great  voyager,  and  anon 
he  rises  up  over  the  top  of  the  wood,  and  sets 
sail  with  his  sweet  cargo  straight  for  his  distant 
haven.  How  well  they  know  the  woods  and 
fields,  and  the  haunt  of  every  flower !  The 
flowers  are  widely  dispersed,  perhaps  because 
the  sweet  which  they  collect  from  the  atmos 
phere  is  rare  and  also  widely  dispersed,  and 
the  bees  are  enabled  to  travel  far  to  find  it, 
a  precious  burden  which  the  heavens  bear  and 
deposit  on  the  earth. 

Sept.  30,  1858.  A  large  flock  of  grackles 
amid  the  willows  by  the  river-side,  or  chiefly 
concealed  low  in  the  button  bushes  beneath 
them,  though  quite  near  me.  There  they  keep 
up  their  spluttering  notes,  though  somewhat  less 
loud,  I  fancy,  than  in  spring.  These  are  the 
first  I  have  seen,  and  now  for  some  time  I  think 
the  redwings  have  been  gone.  These  are  the 
first  arrivers  from  the  north,  where  they  breed. 

I  observe  the  peculiar  steel-bluish  purple  of 
the  night-shade,  i.  <?.,  the  tips  of  the  twigs,  while 
till  beneath  is  green,  dotted  with  bright  berries 
over  the  water.  Perhaps  this  is  the  most  sin- 


48  AUTUMN. 

gular  among  the  autumnal  tints.  It  is  almost 
black  in  some  lights,  distinctly  steel-blue  in  the 
shade,  contrasting  with  the  green  beneath  ;  but 
seen  against  the  sun,  it  is  a  rich  purple,  its  veins 
full  of  fire.  The  form  of  the  leaf  is  peculiar. 

The  pearly  everlasting  is  an  interesting  white 
at  present.  Though  the  stem  and  leaves  are 
still  green,  it  is  dry  and  unwithering  like  an 
artificial  flower  ;  its  white  flexuous  stem  and 
branches,  too,  like  wire  wound  with  cotton. 
Neither  is  there  any  scent  to  betray  it.  Its 
amaranthine  quality  is  instead  of  high  color. 
Its  very  brown  centre  now  affects  me  as  a 
fresh  and  original  color.  It  monopolizes  small 
circles  in  the  midst  of  sweet  fern,  perchance,  on 
a  dry  hillside. 

In  our  late  walk  on  the  Cape  [Ann],  we 
entered  Gloucester  each  time  in  the  dark  at 
mid-evening,  traveling  partly  across  lots  till  we 
fell  into  the  road,  and  as  we  were  simply  seek 
ing  a  bed,  inquiring  the  way  of  villagers  whom 
we  could  not  see.  The  town  seemed  far  more 
home-like  to  us  than  when  we  made  our  way 
out  of  it  in  the  morning.  It  was  comparatively 
still,  and  the  inhabitants  were  sensibly  or  poeti 
cally  employed,  too.  Then  we  went  straight 
to  our  chamber,  and  saw  the  moonlight  reflected 
from  the  smooth  harbor  and  lighting  up  the 
fishing-vessels,  as  if  it  had  been  the  harbor  of 


AUTUMN.  49 

Venice.  By  day  we  went  remarking  on  the 
peculiar  angles  of  the  beveled  roofs,  of  which 
there  is  a  remarkable  variety  there.  There 
are  also  many  large  square  three-story  houses, 
with  short  windows  in  the  upper  story,  as  if 
the  third  story  were  as  good  as  a  gig  for  re 
spectability.  When  entering  the  town  by  moon 
light,  we  could  not  always  tell  whether  the 
road  skirted  the  back  yards  or  the  front  yards 
of  the  houses,  and  the  houses  did  not  so  imper 
tinently  stare  after  the  traveler  and  watch  his 
coming  as  by  day.  Walking  early  in  the  day 
and  approaching  the  rocky  shore  from  the  north, 
the  shadows  of  the  cliffs  were  very  distinct  and 
grateful,  and  our  spirits  were  buoyant.  Though 
we  walked  all  day,  it  seemed  the  days  were  not 
long  enough  to  get  tired  in.  Some  villages  we 
went  through  or  by,  without  communicating 
with  any  inhabitant,  but  saw  them  as  quietly 
and  distantly  as  in  a  picture. 

Oct.  1,  1851.  5  P.  M.  Just  put  a  fugitive 
slave,  who  has  taken  the  name  of  Henry  Wil 
liams,  into  the  cars  for  Canada.  He  escaped 
from  Stafford  County,  Virginia,  to  Boston  last 
October.  Has  been  in  Shadrack's  place  at  the 
Cornhill  Coffee  House  ;  had  been  correspond 
ing  through  an  agent  with  his  master,  who  is 
his  father,  about  buying  himself,  his  master 
asking  $600,  but  he  having  been  able  to  raise 


50  AUTUMN. 

but  $500 ;  heard  that  there  were  writs  out  for 
two  Williamses,  fugitives,  and  was  informed  by 
his  fellow-servants  and  employer  that  Auger- 
hole  Burns  and  others  of  the  police  had  called 
for  'him  when  he  was  out.  Accordingly  he  fled 
to  Concord  last  night  on  foot,  bringing  a  letter 
to  our  family  from  Mr.  Lovejoy,  of  Cambridge, 
and  another  which  Garrison  had  formerly  given 
him  on  another  occasion.  He  lodged  with  us 
and  waited  in  the  house  till  funds  were  collected 
with  which  to  forward  him.  Intended  to  dis 
patch  him  at  noon  through  to  Burlington,  but 
when  I  went  to  buy  his  ticket  saw  one  at  the 
station  who  looked  and  behaved  so  much  like  a 
Boston  policeman  that  I  did  not  venture  that 
time.  He  was  an  intelligent  and  very  well  be 
haved  man,  a  mulatto  ;  said  he  could  guide  him 
self  by  many  other  stars  than  the  north  star, 
knowing  their  rising  and  setting.  They  steered 
for  the  north  star  even  when  it  appeared  to  have 
got  round  to  the  south.  They  frequently  fol 
lowed  the  telegraph  when  there  was  no  railroad. 
Oct.  1,  1856.  Examined  an  Asdepias  Cor- 
nuti  pod,  already  opening.  As  they  dry,  the 
pods  crack  open  by  the  seam  along  their  convex 
or  outer  side,  revealing  the  seeds  with  their  silky 
parachutes,  closely  packed  in  an  imbricated 
manner,  already  right  side  up,  to  the  number  in 
one  instance  of  134,  as  I  counted,  and  again 


AUTUMN.  51 

270.  As  they  lie,  they  resemble  somewhat  a 
round  plump  fish,  with  the  silk  ends  exposed  at 
the  tail.  Children  call  them  fishes.  The  silk 
is  divided  once  or  twice  by  the  raised  partition 
of  the  spongy  core  around  which  they  are  ar 
ranged.  At  the  top  of  some  more  open  and 
drier  is  already  a  little  clump  of  loosened  seeds 
and  down  two  or  three  inches  in  diameter,  held 
by  the  converging  tips  of  the  down,  like  meridi 
ans,  and  just  ready  to  float  away  when  the  wind 
rises. 

I  do  not  perceive  the  poetic  and  dramatic 
capabilities  of  an  anecdote  or  story  which  is  told 
me,  its  significance,  till  some  time  afterwards. 
One  of  the  qualities  of  a  pregnant  fact  is  that  it 
does  not  surprise  us,  and  we  only  perceive  after 
wards  how  interesting  it  is,  and  then  must  know 
all  the  particulars.  We  do  not  enjoy  poetry 
fully  unless  we  know  it  to  be  poetry. 

Oct.  1,  1858.  Let  a  full-grown  but  young 
cock  stand  near  you.  How  full  of  life  he  is  from 
the  tip  of  his  bill  through  his  trembling  wattles 
and  comb  and  his  bright  eye  to  the  extremity  of 
his  clean  toes !  How  alert  and  restless,  listening 
to  every  sound  and  watching  every  motion  I 
How  various  his  notes,  from  the  finest  and  shrill 
est  alarum,  as  a  hawk  sails  over,  surpassing  the 
most  accomplished  violinist  on  the  short  strings, 
to  a  hoarse  and  terrene  voice  or  cluck !  He  has  a 


52  AUTUMN. 

word  for  every  occasion  ;  for  the  dog  that  rushes 
past,  and  Partlet  cackling  in  the  barn.  And 
then,  how,  elevating  himself  and  flapping  his 
wings,  he  gathers  impetus  and  air,  and  launches 
forth  that  world  -  renowned  and  ear -piercing 
strain  ;  not  a  vulgar  note  of  defiance,  but  the 
mere  effervescence  of  life,  like  the  bursting  of 
bubbles  in  a  wine  vat.  Is  any  gem  so  bright 
as  his  eye  ? 

The  cat  sleeps  on  her  head !  What  does  that 
portend?  It  is  more  alarming  than  a  dozen 
comets.  How  long  prejudice  survives!  The 
big-bodied  fisherman  asks  me  doubtingly  about 
the  comet  seen  these  nights  in  the  northwest  — 
if  there  is  any  danger  to  be  apprehended  from 
that  side.  I  would  fain  suggest  that  only  he  is 
dangerous  to  himself. 

Oct.  1,  1860.  Remarkable  frost  and  ice  this 
morning ;  quite  a  wintry  prospect.  The  leaves 
of  trees  stiff  and  white  at  7  A.  M.  I  hear  it  was 
21°  +  this  morning  early.  I  do  not  remember 
such  cold  at  this  season.  One  man  tells  me  he 
regretted  that  he  had  not  taken  his  mittens  with 
him  when  he  went  to  his  morning's  work,  mow 
ing  in  a  meadow,  and  when  he  went  to  a  spring, 
at  11  A.  M.,  found  the  dipper  with  two  inches  of 
ice  in  it  frozen  solid. 

Oct.  2,  1851.  P.  M.  Some  of  the  white 
pines  on  Fair  Haven  Hill  have  just  reached  the 


AUTUMN.  53 

acme  of  their  fall ;  others  have  almost  entirely 
shed  their  leaves.  The  same  is  the  state  of  the 
pitch  pines. 

Oct.  2,  1852.  The  beggar  ticks,  bidens,  now 
adhere  to  my  clothes.  I  also  find  the  desmo- 
dium  sooner  thus  —  as  a  magnet  discovers  the 
steel  filings  in  a  heap  of  ashes  —  than  if  I  used 
my  eyes  alone. 

How  much  more  beautiful  the  lakes  now,  like 
Fair  Haven,  surrounded  by  the  autumn-tinted 
woods  and  hills,  as  in  an  ornamental  frame ! 

Some  maples  in  sprout  lands  are  of  a  delicate, 
clear,  unspotted  red  inclining  to  crimson,  sur 
passing  most  flowers.  I  would  fain  pluck  the 
whole  tree  and  carry  it  home  for  a  nosegay. 

Oct.  2,  1856.  Succory  still,  with  its  cool 
blue,  here  and  there,  and  Hieracium  Canadense 
still  quite  fresh,  with  its  pretty,  broad,  strap- 
shaped  rays,  broadest  at  the  end,  alternately 
long  and  short,  with  five  very  regular  sharp 
teeth  in  the  end  of  each.  The  scarlet  leaves 
and  stem  of  the  rhexia,  some  time  out  of  flower, 
make  almost  as  bright  a  patch  in  the  meadow 
now  as  the  flowers  did.  Its  seed  vessels  are  per 
fect  little  cream  pitchers  of  graceful  form. 

The  prinos  berries  are  in  their  prime,  seven 
sixteenths  of  an  inch  in  diameter.  They  are 
scarlet,  somewhat  lighter  than  the  arum  berries. 
They  are  now  very  fresh  and  bright,  and  what 


54  AUTUMN. 

adds  to  their  effect  is  the  perfect  freshness  and 
greenness  of  the  leaves  amid  which  they  are 
seen.  Gerardia  purpurea  still.  Solidago  spe- 
ciosa  completely  out,  though  not  a  flower  was 
out  September  27th,  or  five  days  ago  ;  say  three 
or  four  days.  Now  and  then  I  see  a  Hypericum 
Canadense  flower  still.  The  leaves  of  this  and 
the  angalosam  are  turned  crimson. 

I  am  amused  to  see  four  little  Irish  boys,  only 
five  or  six  years  old,  getting  a  horse  in  a  pas 
ture,  for  their  father  apparently,  who  is  at  work 
in  a  neighboring  field.  They  have,  all  in  a  row, 
got  hold  of  a  very  long  halter,  and  are  leading 
him.  All  wish  to  have  a  hand  in  it.  It  is  sur 
prising  that  he  obeys  such  small  specimens  of 
humanity,  but  he  seems  to  be  very  docile,  a  real 
family  horse.  At  length,  by  dint  of  pulling 
and  shouting,  they  get  him  into  a  run  down  a 
hill,  and  though  he  moves  very  deliberately, 
scarcely  faster  than  a  walk,  all  but  the  one  at 
the  end  of  the  line  soon  run  to  right  and  left, 
without  having  looked  behind,  expecting  him  to 
be  upon  them.  They  stop  at  last  at  the  bars, 
which  are  down,  and  then  the  family  puppy, 
a  brown  pointer  (?),  about  two  thirds  grown, 
comes  bounding  to  join  them  and  assist.  He  is 
as  youthful  and  about  as  knowing  as  any  of 
them.  The  horse  marches  gravely  behind,  obey 
ing  the  faint  tug  at  the  halter,  or  honestly  stands 


AUTUMN.  55 

still  from  time  to  time,  as  if  not  aware  that  they 
are  pulling  at  all,  though  they  are  all  together 
straining  every  nerve  to  start  him.  It  is  inter 
esting  to  behold  the  faithful  beast,  the  oldest  and 
wisest  of  the  company,  thus  implicitly  obeying 
the  lead  of  the  youngest  and  weakest. 

Corydalis  still  fresh. 

Oct.  2,  1857.  Generally  speaking,  it  is  only 
the  lower  edge  of  the  woods  that  now  shows  the 
bright  autumnal  tints,  while  the  superstructure 
is  green,  the  birches,  very  young  oaks  and  hick 
ories,  huckleberry  bushes,  blueberries,  etc.,  that 
stand  around  the  edges,  though  here  and  there 
some  taller  maple  flames  upward  amid  the  masses 
of  green,  or  some  other  riper  and  mellower  tree. 

The  chief  incidents  of  Minott's  life  must  be 
more  distinct  and  interesting  now  than  imme 
diately  after  they  occurred,  for  he  has  recalled 
and  related  them  so  often  that  they  are  stereo 
typed  in  his  mind.  Never  having  traveled  far 
from  his  hillside,  he  does  not  suspect  himself, 
but  tells  his  stories  with  fidelity  and  gusto  to 
the  minutest  details,  as  Herodotus  does  in  his 
histories. 

Oct.  3,  1840.  No  man  has  imagined  what 
private  discourse  his  members  have  with  sur 
rounding  nature,  or  how  much  the  tenor  of  that 
intercourse  affects  his  own  health  and  sickness. 
While  the  head  goes  star-gazing,  the  legs  are  not 


56  AUTUMN. 

necessarily  astronomers,  too,  but  are  acquiring 
independent  experience  in  lower  strata  of  nature. 
How  much  do  they  feel  which  they  do  not  im 
part  !  How  much  rumor  dies  between  the  knees 
and  the  ears  !  Surely  instinct  was  this  experi 
ence.  I  am  no  more  a  freeman  of  my  members 
than  of  universal  nature.  After  all,  the  body 
takes  care  of  itself.  It  eats,  drinks,  sleeps,  di 
gests,  grows,  dies,  and  the  best  economy  is  to  let 
it  alone  in  all  these. 

Why  need  I  travel  to  seek  a  site,  and  consult 
the  points  of  the  compass  ?  My  eyes  are  south 
windows,  and  out  of  these  I  command  a  south 
ern  prospect.  The  eye  does  the  least  drudgery 
of  any  of  the  senses.  It  oftenest  escapes  to  a 
higher  employment.  The  rest  serve  and  escort 
and  defend  it.  I  attach  some  superiority,  even 
priority,  to  this  sense.  It  is  the  oldest  servant 
in  the  soul's  household ;  it  images  what  it  im 
agines,  it  ideates  what  it  idealizes.  Through  it 
idolatry  crept  in,  which  is  a  kind  of  religion.  If 
any  joy  or  grief  is  to  be  expressed,  the  eye  is 
the  swift  runner  that  carries  the  news.  In  cir 
cumspection,  double,  in  fidelity,  single,  it  serves 
truth  always,  and  carries  no  false  news.  Of  five 
castes,  it  is  the  Brahmin.  It  converses  with  the 
heavens.  How  man  serves  this  sense  more  than 
any  other !  When  he  builds  a  house,  he  does 
not  forget  to  put  a  window  in  the  wall.  We 


AUTUMN.  57 

see  truth.  We  are  children  of  light.  Our  des 
tiny  is  dark.  No  other  sense  has  so  much  to  do 
with  the  future.  The  body  of  science  will  not 
be  complete  till  every  sense  has  thus  ruled  our 
thought  and  language  and  action  in  its  turn. 

Oct.  3,  1852.  P.  M.  To  Flint's  Pond.  I 
hear  a  hylodes  (?)  from  time  to  time.  Hear  the 
loud  laughing  of  a  loon  on  the  pond  from  time 
to  time,  apparently  alone  in  the  middle.  A  wild 
sound,  heard  far,  and  suited  to  the  wildest  lake. 

Seen  from  Heywood's  Peak  at  Walden,  the 
shore  is  now  more  beautifully  painted.  The 
most  prominent  trees  are  the  red  maples  and 
the  yellowish  aspens. 

The  pine  fall  or  change  has  commenced,  and 
the  trees  are  mottled  green  and  yellowish. 

Oct.  3,  1853.  Viola  lanceolata  in  Moore's 
Swamp. 

Oct.  3,  1857.  How  much  more  agreeable  to 
sit  in  the  midst  of  old  furniture  like  Minott's 
clock  and  secretary  and  looking-glass,  which  have 
come  down  from  other  generations,  than  amid 
that  which  was  just  brought  from  the  cabinet 
maker's,  and  smells  of  varnish,  like  a  coffin  !  To 
sit  under  the  face  of  an  old  clock  that  has  been 
ticking  one  hundred  and  fifty  years,  —  there  is 
something  mortal,  not  to  say  immortal,  about  it ; 
a  clock  that  began  to  tick  when  Massachusetts 
was  a  province. 


58  AUTUMN. 

Oct.  3,  1858.  How  many  men  have  a  fatal 
excess  of  manner !  There  was  one  came  to  our 
house  the  other  evening,  and  behaved  very  sim 
ply  and  well  till  the  moment  he  was  passing  out 
the  door.  He  then  suddenly  put  on  the  airs  of 
a  well-bred  man,  and  consciously  described  some 
arc  of  beauty  or  other  with  his  head  or  hand. 
It  was  but  a  slight  flourish,  but  it  has  put  me  on 
the  alert. 

It  is  interesting  to  consider  how  that  crotalaria 
spreads  itself,  sure  to  find  out  the  most  suitable 
soil.  One  year  I  find  it  on  the  Great  Fields, 
and  think  it  rare.  The  next  I  find  it  in  a  new 
and  unexpected  place.  It  flits  about  like  a  flock 
of  sparrows  from  field  to  field. 

Standing  on  the  railroad,  I  look  across  the 
pond  to  Pine  Hill,  where  the  outside  trees,  and 
the  shrubs  scattered  generally  through  the  wood, 
glow  yellow  and  scarlet  through  the  green,  like 
fires  just  kindled  at  the  base  of  the  trees,  a  gen 
eral  conflagration  just  fairly  under  way,  soon  to 
envelop  every  tree.  The  hillside  forest  is  all 
aglow  along  its  edge,  and  in  all  its  cracks  and 
fissures,  and  soon  the  flames  will  leap  upwards 
to  the  tops  of  the  tallest  trees. 

I  hear  out  towards  the  middle,  or  a  dozen 
rods  from  me,  the  plashing  made  apparently  by 
the  shiners ;  for  they  look  and  shine  like  them, 
leaping  in  schools  on  the  surface.  Many  lift 


AUTUMN.  59 

themselves  quite  out  for  a  foot  or  two,  but  most 
rise  only  part  way  out,  twenty  black  points  at 
once.  There  are  several  schools  indulging  in 
this  sport  from  time  to  time,  as  they  swim  slowly 
along.  This  I  ascertain  by  paddling  out  to 
them.  Perhaps  they  leap  and  dance  in  the  water 
just  as  gnats  dance  in  the  air  at  present.  I  have 
seen  it  before  in  the  fall.  Is  it  peculiar  to  this 
season  ? 

The  large  leaves  of  some  black  oak  sprouts 
are  dark  purple,  almost  blackish  above,  but 
greenish  beneath. 

Oct.  3,  1859.  P.  M.  To  Bateman's  Pond ; 
back  by  the  hog  pasture  and  old  Carlisle  road. 

Some  faces  that  I  see  are  so  gross  that  they 
affect  me  like  a  part  of  the  person  improperly 
exposed,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  they  might  be 
covered,  and,  if  necessary,  some  other  and  per 
haps  better  looking  part  of  the  person  be  ex 
posed. 

Looking  from  the  hog  pasture  over  the  valley 
of  Spencer  Brook  westward,  we  see  the  smoke 
rising  from  a  huge  chimney  above  a  gray  roof 
and  the  woods  at  a  distance,  where  some  family 
is  preparing  its  evening  meal.  There  are  few 
more  agreeable  sights  than  this  to  the  pedestrian 
traveler.  No  cloud  is  fairer  to  him  than  that 
little  bluish  one  which  arises  from  the  chimney. 
It  suggests  all  of  domestic  felicity  beneath. 


60  AUTUMN. 

There  we  imagine  that  life  is  lived  of  which  we 
have  only  dreamed.  In  our  minds  we  clothe 
each  unseen  inhabitant  with  all  the  success,  all 
the  serenity,  we  can  conceive  of.  If  old,  we  im 
agine  him  serene  ;  if  young,  hopeful.  We  have 
only  to  see  a  gray  roof  with  its  plume  of  smoke 
curling  up,  to  have  this  faith.  There  we  sus 
pect  no  coarse  haste  or  bustle,  but  serene  labors 
which  proceed  at  the  same  pace  with  the  declin 
ing  day.  There  is  no  hireling  in  the  barn  nor  in 
the  kitchen.  Why  are  distant  valleys,  why  lakes, 
why  mountains  in  the  horizon,  ever  fair  to  us  ? 
Because  we  imagine  for  a  moment  that  they  may 
be  the  home  of  man,  and  that  man's  life  may  be 
in  harmony  with  them.  The  sky  and  clouds  and 
earth  itself,  with  their  beauty,  forever  preach  to 
us,  saying,  Such  an  abode  we  offer  you,  to  such 
a  life  we  encourage  you.  Here  is  not  haggard 
poverty  and  harassing  debt ;  here  is  not  intem 
perance,  moroseness,  meanness,  or  vulgarity. 
Men  go  about  sketching,  painting  landscapes, 
or  writing  verses  which  celebrate  man's  oppor 
tunities.  To  go  into  an  actual  farmer's  family 
at  evening,  see  the  tired  laborers  come  in  from 
their  day's  work  thinking  of  their  wages,  the 
sluttish  help  in  the  kitchen  and  sink-room,  the 
indifferent  stolidity  and  patient  misery  which 
only  the  spirits  of  the  youngest  children  rise 
above,  suggests  one  train  of  thought ;  it  suggests 


AUTUMN.  61 

another  to  look  down  on  that  roof  from  a  dis 
tance,  on  an  October  evening,  when  its  smoke  is 
ascending  peacefully  to  join  the  kindred  clouds 
above.  We  are  ever  busy  hiring  house  and 
lands,  and  peopling  them  in  our  imaginations. 
There  is  no  beauty  in  the  sky,  but  in  the  eye 
that  sees  it.  Health,  high  spirits,  serenity,  are 
the  great  landscape  painters.  Turners,  Claudes, 
Eembrandts,  are  nothing  to  them.  We  never 
see  any  beauty  but  as  the  garment  of  some 
virtue.  Consider  the  infinite  promise  of  a  man, 
so  that  the  sight  of  his  roof  at  a  distance  sug 
gests  an  idyl  or  a  pastoral,  or  of  his  grave,  an 
Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard.  How  all  poets 
have  idealized  the  farmer's  life !  What  graceful 
figures  and  unworldly  characters  they  have  as 
signed  to  them !  Serene  as  the  sky,  emulating 
nature  with  their  calm  and  peaceful  lives. 

Oct.  4,  1840.  It  is  vastly  easier  to  discover 
than  to  see  when  the  cover  is  off. 

Oct.  4,  1851.  Minott  was  telling  me  to-day 
that  he  used  to  know  a  man  in  Lincoln  who  had 
no  floor  to  his  barn,  but  waited  till  the  ground 
froze,  then  swept  it  clean  in  the  barn  and 
threshed  his  grain  on  it.  He  also  used  to  see 
men  threshing  their  buckwheat  in  the  field  where 
it  grew,  having  just  taken  off  the  surface  down 
to  a  hard  pan.  He  used  the  word  gavel  to  de 
scribe  a  parcel  of  stalks  cast  on  the  ground  to 


62  AUTUMN. 

dry.  His  are  good  old  English  words,  and  I  am 
always  sure  to  find  them  in  the  dictionary, 
though  I  never  heard  them  before  in  my  life.  I 
was  admiring  his  cornstalks  disposed  about  the 
barn,  to-day,  over  or  astride  the  braces  and  the 
timbers,  of  such  a  fresh,  clean,  and  handsome 
green,  retaining  their  strength  and  nutritive 
properties,  so  unlike  the  gross  and  careless  hus 
bandry  of  speculating,  money-making  farmers, 
who  suffer  their  stalks  to  remain  out  till  they 
are  dry  and  dingy  and  black  as  chips.  Minott 
is  perhaps  the  most  poetical  farmer,  the  one  who 
most  realizes  to  me  the  poetry  of  the  farmer's 
life,  that  I  know.  He  does  nothing  with  haste 
and  drudgery,  but  everything  as  if  he  loved  it. 
He  makes  the  most  of  his  labor,  and  takes  infi 
nite  satisfaction  in  every  part  of  it.  He  is  not 
looking  forward  to  the  sale  of  his  crops,  but  he 
is  paid  by  the  constant  satisfaction  which  his 
labor  yields  him.  He  has  not  too  much  land  to 
trouble  him,  too  much  work  to  do,  no  hired  man 
nor  boy,  but  simply  to  amuse  himself  and  live. 
He  cares  not  so  much  to  raise  a  large  crop  as  to 
do  his  work  well.  He  knows  every  pin  and  nail 
in  his  barn.  If  any  part  of  it  is  to  be  floored, 
he  lets  no  hired  man  rob  him  of  that  amusement, 
but  he  goes  slowly  to  the  woods,  and  at  his 
leisure  selects  a  pitch-pine  tree,  cuts  it,  and 
hauls  it  or  gets  it  hauled  to  the  mill ;  and  so  he 


AUTUMN.  63 

knows  the  history  of  his  barn  floor.  Farming  is 
an  amusement  which  has  lasted  him  longer  than 
gunning  or  fishing.  He  is  never  in  a  hurry  to 
get  his  garden  planted,  and  yet  it  is  always 
planted  soon  enough,  and  none  in  the  town  is 
kept  so  beautifully  clean.  He  always  prophesies 
a  failure  of  the  crops,  and  yet  is  satisfied  with 
what  he  gets.  His  barn  floor  is  fastened  down 
with  oak  pins,  and  he  prefers  them  to  iron 
spikes,  which  he  says  will  rust  and  give  way.  He 
handles  and  amuses  himself  with  every  ear  of 
his  corn  crop  as  much  as  a  child  with  his  play 
things,  and  so  his  small  crop  goes  a  great  way. 
He  might  well  cry  if  it  were  carried  to  market. 
The  seed  of  weeds  is  no  longer  in  his  soil.  He 
loves  to  walk  in  a  swamp  in  windy  weather,  and 
hear  the  wind  groan  through  the  pines.  He  in 
dulges  in  no  luxury  of  food,  or  dress,  or  furni 
ture,  yet  he  is  not  penurious,  but  merely  simple. 
If  his  sister  dies  before  him,  he  may  have  to  go 
to  the  almshouse  in  his  old  age,  yet  he  is  not 
poor,  for  he  does  not  want  riches.  With  never 
failing  rheumatism  and  trembling  hands,  he 
seems  yet  to  enjoy  perennial  health.  Though 
he  never  reads  a  book  since  he  finished  the 
"  Naval  Monument,"  he  speaks  the  best  of 
English. 

Oct.  4,  1858.     Just  at  the  edge  of  evening,  I 
saw  on  the  sidewalk  something  bright  like  fire, 


64  AUTUMN. 

as  if  molten  lead  were  scattered  along,  and  then 
I  wondered  if  a  drunkard's  spittle  were  lumi 
nous,  and  proceeded  to  poke  it  on  to  a  leaf  with 
a  stick.  It  was  rotten  wood.  I  found  that  it 
came  from  the  bottom  of  some  old  fence  posts 
which  had  just  been  dug  up  near  by,  and  there 
glowed  for  a  foot  or  two,  being  quite  rotten  and 
soft.  It  suggested  that  a  lamp-post  might  be 
more  luminous  at  bottom  than  at  top.  I  cut 
out  a  handful  and  carried  it  about.  It  was  a 
very  pale  brown,  some  almost  white,  in  the 
light,  quite  soft  and  flaky ;  and  as  I  withdrew  it 
gradually  from  the  light,  it  began  to  glow  with 
a  distinctly  blue  fire  in  its  recesses,  becoming 
more  universal  and  whiter  as  the  darkness  in 
creased.  Carried  toward  a  candle,  its  light  is 
quite  blue.  A  man  whom  I  met  in  the  street 
was  able  to  tell  the  time  by  his  watch,  holding 
it  over  what  was  in  my  hand.  The  posts  were 

oak,  probably   white.     Mr.  M ,  the   mason, 

told  me  that  he  heard  his  dog  barking  the  other 
night,  and  going  out  found  that  it  was  at  the 
bottom  of  an  old  post  he  had  dug  up  during 
the  day,  which  was  all  aglow. 

See  B a-fishing  notwithstanding  the  wind. 

A  man  runs  down,  fails,  loses  self-respect,  and 
goes  a-fishing,  though  he  were  never  on  the  river 
before.  Yet  methinks  his  misfortune  is  good 
fortune,  and  he  is  the  more  mellow  and  humane. 


A  UTUMN.  65 

Perhaps  he  begins  to  perceive  more  clearly  that 
the  object  of  life  is  something  else  than  acquir 
ing  property,  and  he  really  stands  in  a  truer 
relation  to  his  fellow-men  than  when  he  com 
manded  a  false  respect  from  them.  There  he 
stands  at  length,  perchance  better  employed  than 
ever,  holding  communion  with  nature  and  him 
self,  and  coming  to  understand  his  real  position 
and  relation  to  men  in  the  world.  It  is  better 
than  a  poor  debtors'  prison,  better  than  most 
successful  money-getting. 

The  hickories  on  the  northwest  side  of  this 
hill  are  in  the  prime  of  their  color,  of  a  rich 
orange ;  some  with  green  intimately  mixed, 
handsomer  than  those  that  are  wholly  changed. 
The  outmost  parts  and  edges  of  the  foliage  are 
orange;  the  recesses  green,  as  if  the  outmost 
parts,  being  turned  toward  the  sunny  fire,  were 
first  baked  by  it. 

Oct.  4,  1859.  When  I  have  made  a  visit 
where  my  expectations  are  not  met,  I  feel  as  if 
I  owed  my  hosts  an  apology  for  troubling  them 
so.  If  I  am  disappointed,  I  find  that  I  have  no 
right  to  visit  them. 

I  have  always  found  that  what  are  called  the 
best  of  manners  are  the  worst,  for  they  are  sim 
ply  the  shell  without  the  meat.  They  cover  no 
life  at  all.  They  are  the  universal  slave-holders 
who  treat  men  as  things.  Nobody  holds  you 


66  AUTUMN. 

more  cheap  than  the  man  of  manners.  They 
are  marks  by  the  help  of  which  the  wearers  ig 
nore  you,  and  remain  concealed  themselves. 

All  men  sympathize  by  their  lower  natures, 
few  only  by  the  higher.  The  appetites  of  the 
mistress  are  commonly  the  same  as  those  of  her 
servant,  but  her  society  is  commonly  more  select. 
The  help  may  have  some  of  the  tenderloin,  but 
she  must  eat  it  in  the  kitchen. 

p.  M.  To  Conantum.  How  interesting  now, 
by  wall-sides  and  on  open  springy  hillsides,  the 
large  straggling  tufts  of  the  Dicksonia  fern 
above  the  leaf-strewn  green  sward,  the  cold,  fall- 
green  sward !  They  are  unusually  preserved 
about  the  Corner  Spring,  considering  the  earli- 
ness  of  this  year.  Long,  handsome,  lanceolate 
green  fronds  pointing  in  every  direction,  re 
curved  and  full  of  fruit,  intermixed  with  yellow 
ish  and  sere  brown  and  shriveled  ones,  the  whole 
clump  perchance  strewn  with  fallen  and  withered 
maple  leaves,  and  overtopped  by  now  withered 
and  unnoticed  osmundas.  Their  lingering  green 
ness  is  so  much  the  more  noticeable  now  that  the 
leaves  generally  have  changed.  They  affect  us 
as  if  they  were  evergreen,  such  persistent  life 
and  greenness  in  the  midst  of  decay.  No  matter 
how  much  they  are  strewn  with  withered  leaves, 
moist  and  green  they  spire  above  them,  not  fear 
ing  the  frosts,  fragile  as  they  are.  Their  green- 


AUTUMN.  67 

ness  is  so  much  the  more  interesting,  because  so 
many  have  already  fallen,  and  we  know  that  the 
first  severer  frost  will  cut  off  them  too.  In  the 
summer  greenness  is  cheap,  now  it  is  a  thing 
comparatively  rare,  and  is  the  emblem  of  life 
to  us. 

It  is  only  when  we  forget  all  our  learning 
that  we  begin  to  know.  I  do  not  get  nearer  by 
a  hair's  breadth  to  any  natural  object,  so  long 
as  I  presume  that  I  have  an  introduction  to  it 
from  some  learned  man.  To  conceive  of  it  with 
a  total  apprehension,  I  must  for  the  thousandth 
time  approach  it  as  something  totally  strange. 
If  you  would  make  acquaintance  with  the  ferns, 
you  must  forget  your  botany.  Not  a  single 
scientific  term  or  distinction  is  the  least  to  the 
purpose.  You  would  fain  perceive  something, 
and  you  must  approach  the  object  totally  unpre 
judiced.  You  must  be  aware  that  no  thing  is 
what  you  have  taken  it  to  be.  In  what  book  is 
this  world  and  its  beauty  described  ?  Who  has 
plotted  the  steps  toward  the  discovery  of  beau 
ty  ?  You  must  be  in  a  different  state  from  com 
mon.  Your  greatest  success  will  be  simply  to 
perceive  that  such  things  are,  and  you  will  have 
no  communication  to  make  to  the  Royal  Society. 
If  it  were  required  to  know  the  position  of  the 
fruit  dots  or  the  character  of  the  indusium,  no 
thing  could  be  easier  than  to  ascertain  it ;  but  if 


68  AUTUMN. 

it  is  required  that  you  be  affected  by  ferns,  that 
they  amount  to  anything,  signify  anything,  to 
you,  that  they  be  another  sacred  scripture  and 
revelation  to  you,  helping  to  redeem  your  life, 
this  end  is  not  so  easily  accomplished. 

I  see  and  hear  probably  flocks  of  grackles 
with  their  split  and  shuffling  note,  but  no  red 
wings  for  a  long  time ;  chipbirds  (but  without 
chestnut  crowns;  is  that  the  case  with  the 
young?),  bay  wings  on  the  walls  and  fences, 
and  the  yellow-browed  sparrow.  Hear  the  pine 
warblers  in  the  pines,  about  the  needles,  and 
see  them  on  the  ground  and  on  rocks,  with  a 
yellow  ring  round  the  eye,  reddish  legs,  and  a 
slight  whitish  bar  on  the  wings.  Going  over 
the  large  hillside  stubble  field  west  of  Holdeii 
wood,  I  start  up  a  large  flock  of  shore  larks, 
hear  their  sveet  sveet  and  sveet  sveet  sveet,  and 
see  their  tails  dark  beneath.  They  are  very 
wary,  and  run  in  the  stubble,  for  the  most  part 
invisible,  while  one  or  two  appear  to  act  the 
sentinel  at  some  rock,  peeping  out  behind  it,  per 
haps,  and  give  their  note  of  alarm,  when  away 
goes  the  whole  flock.  Such  a  flock  circled  back 
and  forth  several  times  over  my  head,  just  like 
ducks  reconnoitring  before  they  alight.  If  you 
look  with  a  glass,  you  are  surprised  to  see  how 
alert  the  spies  are.  These  larks  have  dusky  bills 
and  legs. 


AUTUMN.  69 

The  birds  seem  to  delight  in  these  first  fine 
days  of  the  fall,  in  the  warm  hazy  light,  — 
robins,  bluebirds  (in  families  on  the  almost  bare 
elms),  phoebes,  and  probably  purple  finches.  I 
hear  half -strains  from  many  of  them,  as  the  song 
sparrow,  bluebird,  etc.,  and  the  sweet  phe-be  of 
the  chickadee.  Now  the  year  itself  begins  to  be 
ripe,  ripened  by  the  frost  like  a  persimmon. 

The  maiden-hair  fern  at  Conantum  is  appar 
ently  unhurt  by  frost  as  yet. 

Oct.  5,  1840.  A  part  of  me,  which  has  re 
posed  in  silence  all  day,  goes  abroad  at  night 
like  the  owl,  and  has  its  day.  At  night  we  re 
cline  and  nestle,  and  infold  ourselves  in  our 
being.  Each  night  I  go  home  to  rest.  Each 
night  I  am  gathered  to  my  fathers.  The  soul 
departs  out  of  the  body,  and  sleeps  in  God,  a 
divine  slumber.  As  she  withdraws  herself,  the 
limbs  droop  and  the  eyelids  fall,  and  Nature 
reclaims  her  clay  again.  Man  has  always  re 
garded  the  night  as  ambrosial  or  divine.  The 
air  is  then  peopled,  fairies  come  out. 

Oct.  5,  1851.  I  observe  that  the  woodchuck 
has  two  or  more  holes  a  rod  or  two  apart :  one, 
or  the  front  door,  where  the  excavated  sand  is 
heaped  up ;  another  not  so  easily  discovered, 
very  small,  without  any  sand  about  it,  by  which 
he  emerges,  smaller  directly  at  the  surface  than 
beneath,  on  the  principle  by  which  a  well  is 


70  AUTUMN. 

dug,  making  as  small  a  hole  as  possible  at  the 
surface,  to  prevent  caving. 

Still,  purplish  asters,  late  golden-rods,  fra 
grant  life-everlasting,  purple  gerardia,  great 
bidens,  etc. 

I  hear  the  red-winged  blackbirds  by  the  river 
side  again,  as  if  it  were  a  new  spring.  They 
seem  to  have  come  to  bid  farewell.  The  birds 
appear  to  depart  with  the  coming  of  the  frosts 
which  kill  the  vegetation,  and  directly  or  indi 
rectly  the  insects  on  which  they  feed.  The 
American  bittern,  Ardea  minor,  flew  across  the 
river,  trailing  his  legs  in  the  water,  scared  up 
by  us.  This,  according  to  Peabody,  is  the 
boomer  [stake-driver].  In  their  sluggish  flight, 
they  can  hardly  keep  their  legs  up.  I  wonder 
if  they  can  soar. 

8  P.  M.  To  Cliffs.  Moon  three  quarters  full. 
The  nights  now  are  very  still,  for  there  is  hardly 
any  noise  of  birds  or  insects.  The  whippoor- 
will  is  not  heard,  nor  the  mosquito;  only  the 
occasional  lisping  of  some  sparrow.  As  I  go 
through  the  woods,  I  perceive  a  sweet  dry  scent 
from  the  under  woods  like  that  of  the  fragrant 
life-everlasting.  I  suppose  it  is  that.  I  fre 
quently  see  a  light  on  the  ground  within  thick 
and  dark  woods,  where  all  around  is  in  shadow, 
and  hasten  forward,  expecting  to  find  some  de 
cayed  and  phosphorescent  stump,  but  find  it  to 


AUTUMN.  71 

be  some  clear  moonlight  that  falls  through  a 
crevice  in  the  leaves. 

The  fairies  are  a  quiet,  gentle  folk,  invented 
plainly  to  inhabit  the  moonlight.  As  moonlight 
is  to  sunlight,  so  are  the  fairies  to  men. 

Oct.  5,  1852.  I  was  told  at  Bunker  Hill 
Monument  to-day  that  Mr.  Savage  saw  the 
White  Mountains  several  times  while  work 
ing  on  the  monument.  It  required  very  clear 
weather  in  the  northwest,  and  a  storm  clear 
ing  up  here. 

Oct.  5,  1853.  The  howling  of  the  wind  about 
the  house  just  before  a  storm  to-night  sounds 
extremely  like  a  loon  on  the  pond.  How  fit ! 

Oct.  5,  1856.  P.  M.  To  Hill  and  over  the 
pastures  westward.  In  the  huckleberry  pasture, 
by  the  fence  of  old  barn  boards,  I  notice  many 
little  pale-brown,  dome-shaped  puffballs  puck 
ered  to  a  centre  beneath.  When  you  pinch 
them,  a  smoke-like,  brown,  snuff-colored  dust 
rises  from  the  orifice  at  their  top,  just  like 
smoke  from  a  chimney.  It  is  so  fine  and  light 
that  it  rises  into  the  air,  and  is  wafted  away  like 
smoke  from  a  chimney.  They  are  low  Oriental 
domes  or  mosques,  sometimes  crowded  together 
in  nests,  like  a  collection  of  humble  cottages  on 
the  moor ;  for  there  is  suggested  some  humble 
hearth  beneath,  from  which  this  smoke  comes 
up,  as  it  were  the  homes  of  slugs  and  crickets. 


72  AUTUMN. 

They  please  ine  not  a  little  by  their  resemblance 
to  rude,  dome-shaped,  turf-built  cottages  on  the 
plain,  where  some  humble  but  everlasting  life  is 
lived.  I  imagine  a  hearth  and  pot,  and  some 
snug  but  humble  family  passing  its  Sunday  even 
ing  beneath  each  one.  I  locate  there  at  once  all 
that  is  simple  and  admirable  in  human  life. 
There  is  no  virtue  which  these  roofs  exclude. 
I  imagine  with  what  contentment  and  faith  I 
could  come  home  to  them  at  evening.  On  one 
I  find  a  slug  feeding,  with  a  little  hole  beneath 
him ;  this  is  a  different  species,  the  white  pigeon- 
egg  kind,  with  rough,  crystallized  surface.  A 
cricket  has  eaten  out  the  whole  inside  of  an 
other  in  which  he  is  housed.  This  before  they 
are  turned  to  dust. 

It  is  well  to  find  your  employment  and  amuse 
ment  in  simple  and  homely  things.  These  wear 
best  and  yield  most.  I  think  I  would  rather 
watch  the  motions  of  these  cows  in  their  pasture 
for  a  day,  which  I  now  see  all  headed  one  way 
and  slowly  advancing,  watch  them  and  project 
their  course  carefully  on  a  chart,  and  report 
all  their  behavior  faithfully,  than  wander  to 
Europe  or  Asia,  and  watch  other  motions  there ; 
for  it  is  only  ourselves  that  we  report  in  either 
case,  and  perchance  we  shall  report  a  more  rest 
less,  worthless  self  in  the  latter  case  than  the 
former. 


AUTUMN.  73 

Oct.  5,  1857.  There  is  not  now  that  pro 
fusion,  and  consequent  confusion,  of  events 
which  belongs  to  a  summer  walk.  There  are 
few  flowers,  birds,  insects,  or  fruits  now,  and 
hence  what  does  occur  affects  us  as  more  sim 
ple  and  significant,  as  the  cawing  of  a  crow  or 
the  scream  of  a  jay.  The  latter  seems  to  scream 
more  fitly  and  with  more  freedom  through  the 
vacancies  occasioned  by  fallen  maple  leaves. 

I  hear  the  alarum  of  a  small  red  squirrel,  and 
see  him  running  by  fits  and  starts  along  a  chest 
nut  bough  toward  me.  His  head  looks  dispro- 
portionally  large  for  his  body,  like  a  bull-dog's, 
perhaps  because  he  has  his  chaps  full  of  nuts. 
He  chirrups  and  vibrates  his  tail,  holds  himself 
in,  and  scratches  along  a  foot  as  if  it  was  a 
mile.  He  finds  noise  and  activity  for  both  of 
us.  It  is  evident  that  all  this  ado  does  not 
proceed  from  fear.  There  is  at  the  bottom, 
no  doubt,  an  excess  of  inquisitiveness  and  cau 
tion,  but  the  greater  part  is  make-believe,  and 
a  love  of  the  marvelous.  He  can  hardly  keep 
it  up  till  I  am  gone,  however,  but  takes  out  his 
nut  and  tastes  it  in  the  midst  of  his  agitation. 
"  See  there,  see  there,"  says  he.  "  Who  's  that  ? 
Oh,  dear,  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  and  makes  believe 
run  off,  but  does  not  get  along  an  inch,  lets 
it  all  pass  off  by  flashes  through  his  tail,  while 
he  clings  to  the  bark  as  if  he  were  holding  in 


74  AUTUMN. 

a  race-horse.  He  gets  down  the  trunk  at  last 
upon  a  projecting  knob,  head  downward,  within 
a  rod  of  you,  and  chirrups  and  chatters  louder 
than  ever,  trying  to  work  himself  into  a  fright. 
The  hind  part  of  his  body  is  urging  the  forward 
part  along,  snapping  the  tail  over  it  like  a  whip 
lash,  but  the  fore  part  mostly  clings  fast  to  the 
bark  with  desperate  energy.  Squirr,  "  to  throw 
with  a  jerk,"  seems  to  have  quite  as  much  to  do 
with  the  name  as  the  Greek  "  skia,"  "  oura," 
shadow  and  tail. 

Oct.  5,  1858.  In  the  evening  I  am  glad  to 
find  that  my  phosphorescent  wood  of  last  night 
still  glows  somewhat,  but  I  improve  it  much  by 
putting  it  in  water.  The  little  chips  which  re 
main  in  the  water  or  sink  to  the  bottom  are  like 
so  many  stars  in  the  sky. 

The  comet  makes  a  great  show  these  nights. 
Its  tail  is  at  least  as  long  as  the  whole  of  the 
Great  Dipper,  to  whose  handle,  till  within  a 
night  or  two,  it  reached  in  a  great  curve,  and 
we  plainly  see  stars  through  it. 

Oct.  6,  1840.  The  revolution  of  the  seasons 
is  a  great  and  steady  flow,  a  graceful,  peaceful 
motion,  like  the  swell  on  lakes  and  seas.  No 
where  does  any  rigidity  grow  upon  nature,  no 
muscles  harden,  no  bones  protrude,  but  she  is 
supple-jointed  now  and  always.  No  rubbish  ac 
cumulates  from  day  to  day,  but  still  does  fresh- 


AUTUMN.  75 

ness  predominate  on  her  cheek,  and  cleanliness 
in  her  attire.  The  dust  settles  on  the  fences 
and  the  rocks  and  the  pastures  by  the  roadside, 
but  still  the  sward  is  just  as  green,  nay  greener, 
for  all  that.  The  morning  air  is  clear  even  at 
this  day.  It  is  not  begrimed  with  all  the  dust 
that  has  been  raised.  The  dew  makes  all  clean 
again.  Nature  keeps  her  besom  always  wagging. 
She  has  no  lumber-room,  no  dust-hole,  in  her 
house.  No  man  was  ever  yet  too  nice  to  walk 
in  her  woods  and  fields.  His  religion  allows 
the  Arab  to  cleanse  his  body  with  sand,  when 
water  is  not  at  hand. 

Oct.  6,  1851.  7.30  P.  M.  To  Fair  Haven 
Pond  by  boat,  the  moon  four  fifths  full ;  not  a 
cloud  in  the  sky.  The  water  is  perfectly  still, 
and  the  air  almost  so,  the  former  gleaming  like 
oil  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  moon's  disk  re 
flected  in  it.  When  we  started,  saw  some  fisher 
men  kindling  their  fire  for  spearing,  by  the  river 
side.  It  was  a  lurid,  reddish  blaze,  contrasting 
with  the  white  light  of  the  moon,  with  a  dense 
volume  of  black  smoke  from  the  burning  pitch- 
pine  roots,  rolling  upward  in  the  form  of  an  in 
verted  pyramid.  The  blaze  was  reflected  in  the 
water  almost  as  distinct  as  the  substance.  It 
looked  like  tarring  a  ship  on  the  shore  of  Styx 
or  Cocytus  ;  for  it  is  dark  notwithstanding  the 
moon,  and  there  is  no  sound  but  the  crackling 


76  AUTUMN. 

of  the  fire.  The  fishermen  can  be  seen  only 
near  at  hand,  though  their  fire  is  visible  far 
away,  and  then  they  appear  as  dusky,  fuliginous 
figures,  half  enveloped  in  smoke,  seen  only  by 
their  enlightened  sides.  Like  devils  they  look, 
clad  in  old  clothes  to  defend  themselves  from 
the  fogs,  one  standing  up  forward  holding  the 
spear  ready  to  dart,  while  the  smoke  and  flames 
are  blown  in  his  face,  the  other  paddling  the 
boat  slowly  and  silently  along  close  to  the  shore 
with  almost  imperceptible  motion.  .  .  . 

Now  the  fishermen's  fire  left  behind  becomes 
a  star.  As  surely  as  the  sunlight  falling 
through  an  irregular  chink  makes  a  round  fig 
ure  on  the  opposite  wall,  so  the  blaze  at  a  dis 
tance  appears  a  star.  Such  is  the  effect  of  the 
atmosphere.  The  bright  sheen  of  the  moon  is 
constantly  traveling  with  us,  and  is  seen  at  the 
same  angle  in  front  on  the  surface  of  the  pads, 
and  the  reflection  of  its  disk  on  the  rippled 
water  by  our  boat-side  appears  like  bright  gold 
pieces  falling  on  the  river's  counter. 

Oct.  6,  1857.  I  have  just  read  Euskin's 
"  Modern  Painters."  I  am  disappointed  in  not 
finding  it  a  more  out-of-door  book,  for  I  had 
heard  that  such  was  its  character.  But  its  title 
might  have  warned  me.  He  does  not  describe 
nature  as  nature,  but  as  Turner  painted  her. 
Although  the  work  betrays  that  he  has  given 


AUTUMN.  11 

close  attention  to  nature,  it  appears  to  have 
been  with  an  artist's  and  critic's  design.  How 
much  is  written  about  nature  as  somebody  has 
portrayed  her,  how  little  about  nature  as  she  is 
and  chiefly  concerns  us ;  i.  e.,  how  much  prose, 
how  little  poetry ! 

Oct.  7,  1851.  By  boat  to  Corner  Spring.  A 
very  still,  warm,  bright,  clear  afternoon.  Our 
boat  so  small  and  low  that  we  are  close  to  the 
water.  The  muskrats  all  the  way  are  now  build 
ing  their  houses  ;  about  two  thirds  done.  They 
are  of  an  oval  form,  composed  of  mouthfuls  of 
pontederia  leaf  stems,  now  dead,  the  capillaceous 
roots  or  leaves  of  the  water  marigold  and  other 
capillaceous-leaved  water-plants,  flagroot,  a  plant 
which  looks  like  a  cock's  tail  or  a  peacock's 
feather  in  form,  the  Potamogeton  JRobbinsii, 
clamshells,  etc.  ;  sometimes  rising  from  amidst 
the  dead  pontederia  stems  or  resting  on  the  but 
ton  bushes  or  the  willows.  The  mouthfuls  are 
disposed  in  layers  successively  smaller,  forming 
a  somewhat  conical  mound.  Seen  at  this  stage, 
these  houses  show  some  art  and  a  good  deal  of 
labor.  We  pulled  one  to  pieces  to  examine  the 
inside.  There  was  a  small  cavity  which  might 
hold  two  or  three  full-grown  muskrats,  just 
above  the  level  of  the  water,  quite  wet  and  of 
course  dark  and  narrow,  communicating  immedi 
ately  with  a  gallery  under  water.  There  were 


78  AUTUMN. 

a  few  pieces  of  the  white  root  of  some  water- 
plant,  perhaps  a  pontederia  or  lily,  in  it.  There 
they  dwell  in  close  contiguity  to  the  water  it 
self,  always  in  a  wet  apartment,  in  a  wet  coat 
never  changed,  with  immeasurable  water  in  the 
cellar,  through  which  is  the  only  exit.  They 
have  reduced  life  to  a  lower  scale  than  Diogenes. 
Certainly  they  do  not  fear  cold,  ague,  or  con 
sumption.  Think  of  bringing  up  a  family  in 
such  a  place,  worse  than  a  Broad  Street  cellar ! 
But  probably  these  are  not  their  breeding-places. 
The  muskrat  and  the  fresh-water  mussel  are  very 
native  to  our  river.  The  Indian,  their  human 
confrere,  has  departed.  This  is  a  settler  whom 
our  lowlands  and  our  bogs  do  not  hurt.  How 
long  has  the  muskrat  dined  on  mussels  ?  The 
river  mud  itself  will  have  the  ague  as  soon  as 
he.  What  occasion  has  he  for  a  dentist  ?  Their 
unfinished,  rapidly  rising  nests  look  now  like 
truncated  cones.  They  seem  to  be  all  building 
at  once  in  different  parts  of  the  river,  and  to 
have  advanced  equally  far. 

Saw  the  Ardea  minor  walking  along  the  shore 
like  a  hen  with  long  green  legs.  Its  penciled 
throat  is  so  like  the  reeds  and  other  shore  plants 
amid  which  it  holds  its  head  erect  to  watch  the 
passer  that  it  is  difficult  to  discern  it.  You 
can  get  very  near  it,  for  it  is  unwilling  to  fly, 
preferring  to  hide  amid  the  weeds. 


AUTUMN.  79 

Oct.  7,  1852.  P.  M.  To  Great  Meadows.  I 
find  no  fringed  gentians.  Perhaps  the  autumnal 
tints  are  as  bright  and  interesting  now  as  they 
will  be.  Now  is  the  time  to  behold  the  maple 
swamps,  one  mass  of  red  and  yellow,  all  on  fire  ; 
these  and  the  blood-red  huckleberries  are  the 
most  conspicuous,  and  then  in  the  village  the 
warm  brownish-yellow  elms,  and  there  and  else 
where  the  dark  red  ashes.  I  notice  the  Viola 
ovata,  houstonia,  Ranunculus  repens,  caducous 
polygala,  small,  scratchgrass  polygonum,  autum 
nal  dandelion  very  abundant,  small  bushy  white 
aster,  a  few  golden-rods,  Polygonum  hydropipe- 
roides-)  the  unknown,  flowerless  bidens,  soapwort 
gentian,  now  turned  dark  purple,  yarrow,  the 
white  erigeron,  red  clover,  and  hedge-mustard. 

The  muskrats  have  begun  to  erect  their  cabins. 
Saw  one  done.  Do  they  build  them  in  the  night  ? 

Hear  and  see  larks,  bluebirds,  robins,  and 
song  sparrows.  Also  see  painted  tortoises  and 
shad  frogs. 

I  sit  on  Poplar  Hill.  It  is  a  warm,  Indian- 
summerish  afternoon.  The  sun  comes  out  of 
clouds,  and  lights  up  and  warms  the  whole  scene. 
It  is  perfect  autumn.  I  see  a  hundred  smokes 
rising  through  the  yellow  elm  tops  in  the  village, 
where  the  villagers  are  preparing  for  tea.  It  is 
the  mellowing  year.  The  sunshine  harmonizes 
with  the  imbrowned  and  fiery  foliage. 


80  AUTUMN. 

Oct.  7,  1857.  Halfway  up  Fair  Haven  Hill, 
I  am  surprised  for  the  thousandth  time  by  the 
beauty  of  the  landscape,  and  sit  down  by  the 
orchard  wall  to  behold  it  at  my  leisure.  It  is 
always  incredibly  fair,  but  ordinarily  we  are 
mere  objects  in  it,  and  not  witnesses  of  it.  I  see 
through  the  bright  October  air  a  valley,  some 
two  miles  across,  extending  southwest  and  north 
east,  with  a  broad,  yellow  meadow  tinged  with 
brown  at  the  bottom,  and  a  blue  river  winding 
slowly  through  it  northward,  with  a  regular  edg 
ing  of  low  bushes  of  the  same  color  with  the 
meadow.  Skirting  the  meadow  are  straggling 
lines,  and  occasionally  large  masses,  one  quarter 
of  a  mile  wide,  of  brilliant  scarlet  and  yellow 
and  crimson  trees,  backed  by  green  forests  and 
green  and  russet  fields  and  hills,  and  on  the  hills 
around  shoot  up  a  million  scarlet  and  orange 
and  yellow  and  crimson  fires.  Here  and  there 
amid  the  trees,  often  beneath  the  largest  and 
most  graceful  of  them,  are  white  or  gray  houses. 
Beyond  stretches  a  forest,  wreath  upon  wreath, 
and  between  each  two  wreaths  I  know  lies  a 
similar  vale,  and  far  beyond  all,  on  the  verge  of 
the  horizon,  rise  half  a  dozen  dark  blue  mountain 
summits.  Large  birds  of  a  brilliant  blue  and 
white  plumage  are  darting  and  screaming  amid 
the  glowing  foliage  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below, 
while  smaller  bluebirds  are  warbling  faintly  but 


AUTUMN.  81 

sweetly  around  me.  Such  is  the  dwelling-place 
of  man  ;  but  go  to  a  caucus  in  the  village  to-night, 
or  to  a  church  to-morrow,  and  see  if  there  is 
anything  said  to  suggest  that  the  inhabitants  of 
these  houses  know  what  manner  of  world  they 
live  in.  It  chanced  that  I  heard  just  then  the 
tolling  of  a  distant  funeral  bell.  Its  serious 
sound  was  more  in  harmony  with  that  scenery 
than  any  ordinary  bustle  would  have  been.  It 
suggested  that  man  must  die  to  his  present  life 
before  he  can  appreciate  his  opportunities  and 
the  beauty  of  the  abode  that  is  appointed  him. 

I  do  not  know  how  to  entertain  those  who 
cannot  take  long  walks.  The  first  thing  that 
suggests  itself  is  to  get  a  horse  to  draw  them, 
and  that  brings  me  at  once  into  contact  with 
the  stables  and  dirty  harness,  and  I  do  not  get 
over  my  ride  for  a  long  time.  I  give  up  my 
forenoon  to  them,  and  get  along  pretty  well,  the 
very  elasticity  of  the  air  and  promise  of  the  day 
abetting  me  ;  but  they  are  as  heavy  as  dumplings 
by  mid-afternoon.  If  they  can't  walk,  why  won't 
they  take  an  honest  nap  in  the  afternoon  and 
let  me  go?  But  when  two  o'clock  comes,  they 
alarm  me  by  an  evident  disposition  to  sit.  In 
the  midst  of  the  most  glorious  Indian  summer 
afternoon,  there  they  sit,  breaking  your  chairs 
and  wearing  out  the  house,  with  their  backs  to 
the  light,  taking  no  note  of  the  lapse  of  time. 


82  AUTUMN. 

As  I  sat  on  the  high  bank  at  the  east  end  of 
Walden  this  afternoon  at  five  o'clock,  I  saw  by 
a  peculiar  intention  of  the  eye,  a  very  striking, 
sub-aqueous  rainbow-like  phenomenon.  A  passer 
by  might  have  noticed  the  reflections  of  those 
bright-tinted  shrubs  along  the  high  shore  on  the 
sunny  side,  but  unless  on  the  alert  for  such 
effects  he  would  have  failed  to  perceive  the  full 
beauty  of  the  phenomenon.  Those  brilliant 
shrubs,  from  three  to  a  dozen  feet  in  height,  were 
all  reflected,  dimly  so  far  as  the  details  of  leaves, 
etc.,  were  concerned,  but  brightly  as  to  color, 
and  of  course  in  the  order  in  which  they  stood, 
scarlet,  yellow,  green,  etc. ;  but  there  being  a 
slight  ripple  on  the  surface,  these  reflections 
were  not  true  to  the  height  of  their  substances, 
only  as  to  color,  breadth  of  base,  and  order,  but 
were  extended  downward  with  mathematical  per 
pendicularity  three  or  four  times  too  far  for  the 
height  of  the  substances,  forming  sharp  pyramids 
of  the  several  colors  gradually  reduced  to  mere 
dusky  points.  The  effect  of  this  prolongation 
was  a  very  agreeable  softening  and  blending  of 
the  colors,  especially  when  a  small  bush  of  one 
bright  tint  stood  directly  before  another  of  a 
contrary  and  equally  bright  tint.  It  was  just  as 
if  you  were  to  brush  firmly  aside  with  your  hand 
or  a  brush  a  fresh  hue  of  paint  or  so  many  lumps 
of  friable  colored  powders.  There  was  accord- 


AUTUMN.  83 

ingly  a  sort  of  belt,  as  wide  as  the  height  of  the 
hill,  extending  downward  along  the  whole  north 
or  sunny  side  of  the  pond,  composed  of  exceed 
ingly  short  and  narrow  inverted  pyramids  of  the 
most  brilliant  colors  intermixed.  I  have  seen 
similar  inverted  pyramids  in  the  old  drawings  of 
tattooing  about  the  waists  of  the  aborigines  of 
this  country.  Walden,  like  an  Indian  maiden, 
wears  this  broad,  rainbow-like  belt  of  brilliant- 
colored  points  or  cones  round  her  waist  in  Octo 
ber.  The  colors  seem  to  be  reflected  and  re- 
reflected  from  ripple  to  ripple,  losing  brightness 
each  time  by  the  softest  possible  gradation,  and 
tapering  towards  the  beholder. 

Oct.  7,  1860.  Remarking  to  old  Mr.  

the  other  day  on  the  abundance  of  the  apples, 
"Yes,"  says  he,  "and  fair  as  dollars,  too." 
That  's  the  kind  of  beauty  they  see  in  apples. 

Many  people  have  a  foolish  way  of  talking 
about  small  things,  and  apologize  for  themselves 
or  another  as  having  attended  to  such,  having 
neglected  their  ordinary  business,  and  amused 
or  instructed  themselves  by  attending  to  small 
things,  when,  if  the  truth  were  known,  their  or 
dinary  business  was  the  small  thing,  and  almost 
their  whole  lives  were  misspent. 

Oct.  8, 1851.  2  P.  M.  To  the  Marlboro'  road. 
Picked  up  an  Indian  gouge  on  Dennis's  Hill. 
Some  white  oak  acorns  in  the  path  by  a  wood- 


84  AUTUMN. 

side  I  found  to  be  unexpectedly  sweet  and  pal 
atable,  the  bitterness  being  scarcely  perceptible. 
To  my  taste  they  are  quite  as  good  as  chestnuts. 
No  wonder  the  first  men  lived  on  acorns.  Such 
as  these  are  no  mean  food,  as  they  are  repre 
sented  to  be.  Their  sweetness  is  like  the  sweet 
ness  of  bread.  The  whole  world  is  sweeter  to 
me  for  having  discovered  such  palatableness  in 
this  neglected  nut.  I  am  related  again  to  the 
first  men.  What  can  be  handsomer,  wear  better 
to  the  eye,  than  the  color  of  the  acorn,  like  the 
leaves  on  which  it  falls,  polished  or  varnished. 
I  should  be  at  least  equally  pleased,  if  I  were 
to  find  that  the  grass  tasted  sweet  and  nutri 
tious.  It  increases  the  number  of  my  friends, 
it  diminishes  the  number  of  my  foes.  How 
easily,  at  this  season,  I  could  feed  myself  in  the 
woods !  There  is  mast  for  me  too,  as  well  as  for 
the  pigeon  and  the  squirrels,  —  this  Dodonean 
fruit.  The  sweet-acorn  tree  is  famous  and  well 
known  to  the  boys.  There  can  be  no  question 
respecting  the  wholesomeness  of  this  diet. 

The  jointed  polygonum  in  the  Marlboro'  road 
is  an  interesting  flower,  it  is  so  late,  so  bright  a 
red,  though  inobvious  from  its  minuteness,  with 
out  leaves,  above  the  sand  like  sorrel,  mixed 
with  other  minute  flowers. 

An  arrow-head  at  the  desert.  Filled  my 
pockets  with  acorns.  Found  another  gouge  on 


AUTUMN.  85 

Dennis's  Hill.  To  have  found  two  Indian 
gouges  and  tasted  sweet  acorns,  is  it  not  enough 
for  one  afternoon  ? 

A  warm  night  like  this  at  this  season  pro 
duces  its  effect  on  the  village.  The  boys  are 
heard  in  the  street  now  at  nine  o'clock,  in 
greater  force  and  with  more  noise  than  usual, 
and  my  neighbor  has  got  out  his  flute. 

The  moon  is  full.  The  tops  of  the  woods  in 
the  horizon,  seen  above  the  fog,  look  exactly  like 
long,  low,  black  clouds,  the  fog  being  the  color 
of  the  sky. 

Oct.  8,  1857.  Walking  through  the  Lee 
farm  swamp,  a  dozen  or  more  rods  from  the 
river,  I  found  a  large  box  trap  closed.  I  opened 
it  and  found  in  it  the  remains  of  a  gray  rabbit, 
skin,  bones,  and  mould  closely  fitting  the  right- 
angled  corner  of  one  side.  It  was  wholly  inof 
fensive,  as  so  much  vegetable  mould,  and  must 
have  been  dead  some  years.  None  of  the  furni 
ture  of  the  trap  remained,  only  the  box  itself ; 
the  stick  which  held  the  bait,  the  string,  etc., 
were  all  gone.  The  box  had  the  appearance  of 
having  been  floated  off  in  an  upright  position 
by  a  freshet.  It  had  been  a  rabbit's  living 
tomb.  He  had  gradually  starved  to  death  in  it. 
What  a  tragedy  to  have  occurred  within  a  box 
in  one  of  our  quiet  swamps !  The  trapper  lost 
his  box,  the  rabbit  its  life.  The  box  had  not 


86  AUTUMN. 

been  gnawed.  After  days  and  nights  of  moan 
ing  and  struggle,  heard  for  a  few  rods  through 
the  swamp,  increasing  weakness  and  emaciation 
and  delirium,  the  rabbit  breathed  its  last.  They 
tell  you  of  opening  the  tomb  and  finding,  by 
the  contortions  of  the  body,  that  it  was  buried 
alive.  This  was  such  a  case.  Let  the  trapping 
boy  dream  of  the  dead  rabbit  in  its  ark,  as  it 
sailed,  like  a  small  meeting  house  with  its  rude 
spire,  slowly,  with  a  grand  and  solemn  motion, 
far  amid  the  alders. 

Oct.  9,  1850.  I  am  always  exhilarated,  as 
were  the  early  voyagers,  by  the  sight  of  sas 
safras,  Laurus  sassafras.  The  green  leaves 
bruised  have  the  fragrance  of  lemons  and  a 
thousand  spices.  To  the  same  order  belong 
cinnamon,  cassia,  camphor. 

The  seed  vessel  of  the  sweetbrier  is  a  very 
beautiful,  glossy,  elliptical  fruit.  This  shrub, 
what  with  the  fragrance  of  its  leaves,  its  blos 
som,  and  its  fruit,  is  thrice  crowned. 

Oct.  9,  1851.  Heard  two  screech  owls  in 
the  night. 

Boiled  a  quart  of  acorns  for  breakfast,  but 
found  them  not  so  palatable  as  the  raw,  having 
acquired  a  bitterish  taste,  perchance  from  being 
boiled  with  the  shells  and  skins.  Yet  one  would 
soon  get  accustomed  to  this. 

2  P.  M.     To  Conantum.      I  hear  the  green 


AUTUMN.  87 

locust  again  on  the  alders  of  the  causeway,  but 
he  is  turned  straw  color.  The  warm  weather 
has  revived  them. 

All  the  acorns  on  the  same  tree  are  not 
equally  sweet.  They  appear  to  dry  sweet. 

I  see  half  a  dozen  snakes  in  this  walk,  green 
and  striped,  one  very  young  striped  snake.  They 
appear  to  be  out  enjoying  the  sun,  and  to  make 
the  most  of  the  last  warm  days  of  the  year. 

The  hill  and  plain  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
river  are  covered  with  the  warm  deep  red  leaves 
of  shrub  oak.  On  Lee's  hillside  by  the  pond, 
the  red  leaves  of  some  pitch  pines  are  almost 
of  a  golden  yellow  hue  seen  in  the  sunlight,  a 
rich  autumnal  look.  The  green  are,  as  it  were, 
set  in  the  yellow. 

The  witch  hazel  here  is  in  full  blossom  on  this 
magical  hillside,  while  its  broad  yellow  leaves 
are  falling.  Some  bushes  are  completely  bare 
of  leaves,  and  leather-colored  they  strew  the 
ground.  It  is  an  extremely  interesting  plant, 
October  and  November  child,  and  yet  reminds 
me  of  the  very  earliest  spring.  Its  blossoms 
smell  like  the  spring,  like  the  willow  catkins. 
By  their  color  as  well  as  fragrance  they  belong 
to  the  saffron  dawn  of  the  year,  suggesting  amid 
all  these  signs  of  autumn,  falling  leaves,  and 
frost,  that  the  life  of  nature  by  which  she  eter 
nally  flourishes  is  untouched.  It  stands  here  in 


88  AUTUMN. 

the  shadow  on  the  side  of  the  hill,  while  the 
sunlight  from  over  the  top  of  the  hill  lights  up 
its  topmost  sprays  and  yellow  blossoms.  Its 
spray,  so  jointed  and  angular,  is  not  to  be  mis 
taken  for  any  other.  I  lie  on  my  back  with  joy 
under  its  boughs.  While  its  leaves  fall,  its 
blossoms  spring.  The  autumn,  then,  is  indeed 
a  spring.  All  the  year  is  a  spring.  I  see  two 
blackbirds  high  overhead  going  south,  but  I  am 
going  in  my  thoughts  with  these  hazel  blossoms. 
It  is  a  fairy  place.  This  is  a  part  of  the  immor 
tality  of  the  soul.  When  I  was  thinking  that 
it  bloomed  too  late  for  bees  or  other  insects  to 
extract  honey  from  its  flowers,  that  perchance 
they  yielded  no  honey,  I  saw  a  bee  upon  it. 
How  important,  then,  to  the  bees  this  late  blos 
soming  plant. 

A  large  sassafras  tree  behind  Lee's,  two  feet 
in  diameter  at  the  ground. 

There  is  a  thick  bed  of  leaves  in  the  road 
under  Hubbard's  elms.  This  reminds  me  of 
Cato,  as  if  the  ancients  made  more  use  of  na 
ture  than  we.  He  says,  "  Stramenta  si  de- 
erunt,  f rondem  iligneam  legito ;  earn  substernito 
ovibus  bubusque."  If  litter  is  wanting,  gather 
the  leaves  of  the  holm  oak,  and  strew  them 
under  your  sheep  and  oxen.  In  another  place 
he  says,  "  Circum  vias  ulmos  serito  et  partim 
populos,  uti  f  rondem  ovibus  et  bubus  habeas." 


AUTUMN.  89 

There  is  little  or  no  use  made  by  us  of  the 
leaves  of  trees,  not  even  for  beds,  unless  it  be 
sometimes  to  rake  them  up  in  the  woods,  and 
cast  them  into  hogpens  and  compost  heaps. 

Oct.  9,  1857.  It  has  come  to  this,  that  the 
lover  of  art  is  one,  and  the  lover  of  nature  an 
other,  though  true  art  is  but  the  expression  of  our 
love  of  nature.  It  is  monstrous  when  one  cares 
but  little  about  trees,  and  much  about  Corin 
thian  columns  ;  yet  this  is  exceedingly  common. 

Oct.  9,  1858.  I  watch  two  marsh  hawks 
which  rise  from  the  woods  before  me  as  I  sit  on 
the  cliff,  at  first  plunging  at  each  other,  gradu 
ally  lifting  themselves,  as  they  come  round  in 
their  gyrations,  higher  and  higher,  and  floating 
toward  the  southeast.  Slender  dark  motes  they 
are  at  last,  but  every  time  they  come  round 
eastward,  I  see  the  light  of  the  westering  sun 
reflected  from  the  under  sides  of  their  wings. 

Oct.  9,  1860.  Up  Assabet.  I  now  see  one 
small  red  maple  which  is  all  a  pure  yellow  with 
in,  and  a  bright  red  or  scarlet  on  its  outer  sur 
face  and  prominences.  It  is  a  remarkably  dis 
tinct  painting  of  scarlet  on  a  yellow  ground.  It 
is  an  indescribably  beautiful  contrast  of  scarlet 
and  yellow.  Another  is  yellow  and  green  where 
this  was  scarlet  and  yellow,  and  in  this  case,  the 
bright  and  liquid  green,  now  getting  to  be  rare, 
is  by  contrast  as  charming  a  color  as  the  scarlet. 


90  AUTUMN. 

I  wonder  that  the  very  cows  and  the  dogs  in 
the  street  do  not  manifest  a  recognition  of  the 
bright  tints  about  and  above  them.  I  saw  a 
terrier  dog  glance  up  and  down  the  painted 
street  before  he  turned  in  at  his  master's  gate, 
and  I  wondered  what  he  thought  of  these  lit 
trees,  if  they  did  not  touch  his  philosophy  or 
spirits,  but  I  fear  he  had  only  his  common  dog 
gish  thoughts  after  all.  He  trotted  down  the 
yard  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  course,  or  else  as 
if  he  deserved  it  all. 

For  two  or  more  nights  past  we  have  had  re 
markable  glittering  golden  sunsets  as  I  came 
home  from  the  post-office,  it  being  cold  and 
cloudy  just  above  the  horizon.  There  was  the 
most  intensely  bright  golden  light  at  the  west 
end  of  the  street  extending  under  the  elms,  and 
the  very  dust  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off  was  like 
gold  dust.  I  wondered  how  a  child  could  stand 
quietly  in  that  light,  as  if  it  had  been  a  furnace. 

This  haste  to  kill  a  bird  or  quadruped,  and 
make  a  skeleton  of  it,  which  many  young  men 
and  some  old  men  exhibit,  reminds  me  of  the 
fable  of  the  man  who  killed  the  hen  that  laid 
golden  eggs,  and  so  got  no  more  gold.  It  is  a 
perfectly  parallel  case.  Such  is  the  knowledge 
you  get  from  anatomy  as  compared  witli  that 
you  may  get  from  the  living  creature.  Every 
fowl  lays  golden  eggs  for  him  who  can  find 
them,  or  can  detect  alloy  and  base  metal. 


AUTUMN.  91 

Oct.  10,  1851.  The  air  this  morning  is  full 
of  bluebirds,  and  again  it  is  spring.  There  are 
many  things  to  indicate  the  renewing  of  spring 
at  this  season,  the  blossoming  of  spring  flowers, 
not  to  mention  the  witch-hazel,  the  notes  of  spring 
birds,  the  springing  of  grain  and  grass  and 
other  plants. 

Ah,  I  yearn  toward  thee,  my  friend,  but  I 
have  not  confidence  in  thee.  We  do  not  be 
lieve  in  the  same  God.  I  am  not  thou,  thou  art 
not  I.  We  trust  each  other  to-day,  but  we  dis 
trust  to-morrow.  Even  when  I  meet  thee  un 
expectedly,  I  part  from  thee  with  disappoint 
ment.  Though  I  enjoy  thee  more  than  other 
men,  I  am  more  disappointed  with  thee  than 
with  others.  I  know  a  noble  man ;  what  is  it 
hinders  me  from  knowing  him  better  ?  I  know 
not  how  it  is  that  our  distrust,  our  hate,  is 
stronger  than  our  love.  Here  I  have  been  on 
what  the  world  would  call  friendly  terms  with 
one  fourteen  years,  have  pleased  my  imagina 
tion  sometimes  with  loving  him,  and  yet  our 
hate  is  stronger  than  our  love.  Why  are  we 
related  thus  unsatisfactorily  to  each  other? 
We  are  almost  a  sore  to  one  another.  Ever 
and  anon  will  come  the  thought  to  mar  our  love, 
that  change  the  theme  but  a  hair's  breadth,  and 
we  shall  be  tragically  strange  to  one  another. 
We  do  not  know  what  hinders  us  from  coming 


92  AUTUMN. 

together,  but  when  I  consider  what  my  friend's 
relations  and  acquaintances  are,  what  his  tastes 
and  habits,  then  the  difference  between  us  gets 
named.  I  see  that  all  these  friends  and  ac 
quaintances  and  tastes  and  habits  are  indeed 
my  friend's  self. 

The  witch-hazel  loves  a  hillside  with  or  with 
out  wood  or  shrubs.  It  is  always  pleasant  to 
come  upon  it  unexpectedly  as  you  are  threading 
the  woods  in  such  places.  Methinks  I  attri 
bute  to  it  some  elfish  quality  apart  from  its  fame. 
I  love  to  behold  its  gray  speckled  stems.  The 
leaf  first  green,  then  yellow  for  a  short  season ; 
then,  when  it  touches  the  ground,  tawny  leather- 
color.  As  I  stood  amid  the  witch-hazels  near 
Flint's  Pond,  a  flock  of  a  dozen  chickadees  came 
flitting  and  singing  about  me  with  great  ado,  a 
most  cheering  and  enlivening  sound,  with  inces 
sant  day  -  day  -  day,  and  a  fine  wiry  strain,  be 
tween  whiles,  flitting  ever  nearer  and  nearer  in 
quisitively,  till  the  boldest  was  within  five  feet 
of  me  ;  then  suddenly,  their  curiosity  sated,  they 
flitted  by  degrees  farther  away,  disappeared,  and 
I  heard  with  regret  their  retreating  day -day- 
days. 

Oct.  10,  1857.  This  is  the  end  of  the  sixth 
day  of  glorious  weather,  which  I  am  tempted  to 
call  the  finest  in  the  year,  so  bright  and  serene 
the  air,  such  a  sheen  from  the  earth,  so  brilliant 


AUTUMN.  93 

the  foliage,  so  pleasantly  warm  (except  perhaps 
this  day,  which  is  cooler),  too  warm  for  a  thick 
coat,  yet  not  sultry  nor  oppressive,  so  ripe  the 
season  and  our  thoughts.  Certainly  these  are 
the  most  brilliant  days  in  the  year,  ushered 
in  perhaps  by  a  frosty  morning,  as  this.  As 
a  dewy  morning  in  summer,  compared  with  a 
parched  and  sultry,  languid  one,  so  a  frosty 
morning  at  this  season  compared  with  a  merely 
dry  or  foggy  one.  These  days  you  may  say  the 
year  is  ripened  like  a  fruit  by  frost,  and  puts  on 
the  brilliant  tints  of  maturity,  but  not  yet  the 
color  of  decay.  It  is  not  sere  and  withered  as 
in  November. 

Oct.  10,  1858.  The  simplest  and  most  lump 
ish  fungus  has  a  peculiar  interest  for  us,  com 
pared  with  a  mere  mass  of  earth,  because  it  is 
so  obviously  organic  and  related  to  ourselves, 
however  remote.  It  is  the  expression  of  an  idea, 
growth  according  to  a  law,  matter  not  dormant, 
not  raw,  but  inspired,  appropriated  by  spirit.  If 
I  take  up  a  handful  of  earth,  however  separately 
interesting  the  particles  may  be,  their  relation  to 
one  another  appears  to  be  that  of  mere  juxtapo 
sition  generally.  I  might  have  thrown  them  to 
gether  thus.  But  the  humblest  fungus  betrays  a 
life  akin  to  my  own.  It  is  a  successful  poem  in 
its  kind.  There  is  suggested  something  superior 
to  any  particle  of  matter  in  the  idea  or  mind 
which  uses  and  arranges  the  particles. 


94  AUTUMN. 

I  find  the  fringed  gentian  abundantly  open  at 
three  and  at  four  p.  M.  (in  fact  it  must  be  all 
the  afternoon),  open  to  catch  the  cool  October 
sun  and  air  in  its  low  position.  Such  a  dark 
blue !  surpassing  that  of  the  male  bluebird's 
back. 

I  see  dumb-bells  in  the  minister's  study,  and 
some  of  their  dumbness  gets  into  his  sermons. 
Some  travelers  carry  them  round  the  world  in 
their  carpet  bags.  Can  he  be  said  to  travel 
who  requires  still  this  exercise?  A  party  of 
school  children  had  a  picnic  in  the  Easterbrook 
country  the  other  day,  and  they  carried  bags 
of  beans  for  their  gymnasium,  to  exercise  with 
there.  I  cannot  be  interested  in  these  extremely 
artificial  amusements.  The  traveler  is  no 
longer  a  wayfarer  with  his  staff  and  pack  and 
dusty  coat.  He  is  not  a  pilgrim,  but  he  travels 
in  a  saloon,  and  carries  dumb-bells  to  exercise 
with  in  the  intervals  of  his  journey. 

Oct.  11,  1840.  It  is  always  easy  to  infringe 
the  law,  but  the  Bedouin  of  the  desert  finds  it 
impossible  to  resist  public  opinion. 

Oct.  11,  1852.  The  chestnut  leaves  already 
rustle  with  a  great  noise  as  you  walk  through 
the  woods,  lying  light,  firm  and  crisp.  Now  the 
chestnuts  are  rattling  out.  The  burrs  are  gap 
ing  and  showing  the  plump  nuts.  They  fill  the 
ruts  in  the  road  and  are  abundant  amid  the  fallen 


AUTUMN.  95 

leaves  in  the  midst  of  the  wood.  The  jays 
scream  and  the  red  squirrels  scold  while  you 
are  clubbing  and  shaking  the  trees.  Now  it  is 
true  autumn,  and  all  things  are  crisp  and  ripe. 

I  observed  the  other  day  that  those  insects 
whose  ripple  I  could  see  from  the  peak  were 
water  bugs.  I  could  detect  the  progress  of  a 
water  bug  over  the  smooth  surface  in  ahnost 
any  part  of  the  pond,  for  they  furrow  the  water 
slightly,  making  a  conspicuous  ripple,  bounded 
by  two  diverging  lines,  but  the  skaters  slide 
over  it  without  producing  a  perceptible  ripple. 
In  this  clear  air  and  with  this  glassy  surface, 
the  motion  of  every  water  bug,  here  and  there 
amid  the  skaters,  was  perceptible. 

Oct.  11,  1859.  The  note  of  the  chickadee 
heard  now  in  cooler  weather  above  many  fallen 
leaves,  has  a  new  significance. 

There  was  a  very  severe  frost  this  morning ; 
ground  stiffened,  probably  a  chestnut-opening 
frost,  a  season  ripeness,  opener  of  the  burrs 
that  contain  the  Indian  Summer.  Such  is  the 
cold  of  early  or  mid  October.  The  leaves  and 
weeds  had  a  stiff,  hoary  appearance. 

Oct.  11, 1860.  Pears  are  a  less  poetic  though 
more  aristocratic  fruit  than  apples.  They  have 
neither  the  beauty  nor  the  fragrance  of  apples, 
but  their  excellence  is  in  their  flavor,  which 
speaks  to  a  grosser  sense,  they  are  glout-mor- 


96  AUTUMN. 

ceaux;  hence  while  children  dream  of  apples, 
judges,  ex-judges,  and  honorables  are  connois 
seurs  of  pears,  and  discourse  of  them  at  length 
between  sessions.  How  much  more  attention 
they  get  from  the  proprietor.  The  hired  man 
gathers  the  apples  and  barrels  them.  The  pro 
prietor  plucks  the  pears  at  odd  hours  for  a  pas 
time.  They  are  spread  on  the  floor  of  the  best 
room,  they  are  a  gift  to  the  most  distinguished 
guest.  They  are  named  after  emperors,  kings, 
queens,  dukes,  and  duchesses.  I  fear  I  shall 
have  to  wait  till  we  get  to  pears  with  American 
names,  which  a  republican  can  swallow. 

Oct.  12,  1840.  The  springs  of  life  flow  in 
ceaseless  tides  down  below,  and  hence  this 
greenness  everywhere  on  the  surface.  But 
they  are  as  yet  untapped;  only  here  and  there 
men  have  sunk  a  well. 

Oct.  12,  1851.  I  love  very  well  this  cloudy 
afternoon,  so  sober  and  favorable  to  reflection, 
after  so  many  bright  ones.  What  if  the  clouds 
shut  out  the  heavens,  provided  they  concentrate 
my  thoughts  and  make  a  more  celestial  heaven 
below  !  I  hear  the  crickets  plainer.  I  wander 
less  in  my  thoughts,  am  less  dissipated,  am  aware 
how  shallow  was  the  current  of  my  thoughts 
before.  Deep  streams  are  dark,  as  if  there 
were  a  cloud  in  their  sky ;  shallow  ones  are 
bright  and  sparkling,  reflecting  the  sun  from 


AUTUMN.  97 

their  bottoms.  The  very  wind  on  my  cheek 
seems  more  fraught  with  meaning. 

I  seem  to  be  more  constantly  merged  in  na 
ture,  my  intellectual  life  is  more  obedient  to 
nature  than  formerly,  but  perchance  less  obedi 
ent  to  spirit.  I  have  less  memorable  seasons.  I 
exact  less  of  myself.  I  am  getting  used  to  my 
meanness,  getting  to  accept  my  low  estate.  Oh, 
if  I  could  be  discontented  with  myself!  if  I 
could  feel  anguish  at  each  descent ! 

p.  M.  To  Cliffs.  I  hear  Lincoln  bell  tolling 
for  church.  At  first  I  thought  of  the  telegraph 
harp.  Heard  at  a  distance,  the  sound  of  a  bell 
acquires  a  certain  vibratory  hum,  as  it  were 
from  the  air  through  which  it  passes,  like  a 
harp.  All  music  is  a  harp  music  at  length,  as 
if  the  air  were  full  of  vibrating  strings.  It  is 
not  the  mere  sound  of  the  bell,  but  the  hum 
ming  in  the  air  that  enchants  me,  just  as 
the  azure  tint  which  much  air  or  distance  im 
parts,  delights  the  eye.  It  is  not  so  much  the 
object,  as  the  object  clothed  with  an  azure  veil. 
All  sound  heard  at  a  great  distance  thus  tends 
to  produce  the  same  music,  vibrating  the  strings 
of  the  universal  lyre.  There  comes  to  me  a 
melody  which  the  air  has  strained,  which  has 
conversed  with  every  leaf  and  needle  of  the 
woods.  It  is  by  no  means  the  sound  of  the  bell 
as  heard  near  at  hand,  and  which  at  this  dis- 


98  AUTUMN. 

tance  I  can  plainly  distinguish,  but  its  vibrating 
echoes,  that  portion  of  the  sound  which  the  ele 
ments  take  up  and  modulate,  a  sound  which  is 
very  much  modified,  sifted,  and  refined  before 
it  reaches  my  ear.  The  echo  is  to  some  extent 
an  independent  sound,  and  therein  is  the  magic 
and  charm  of  it.  It  is  not  merely  a  repetition 
of  my  voice,  but  it  is  in  some  measure  the  voice 
of  the  wood. 

Oct.  12,  1852.  I  am  struck  by  the  simplicity 
of  light  in  the  atmosphere  in  the  autumn,  as  if 
the  earth  absorbed  none,  and  out  of  this  profu 
sion  of  dazzling  light  came  the  autumnal  tints. 
Can  it  be  because  there  is  less  vapor  ? 

The  delicacy  of  the  stratification  in  the  white 
sand  by  the  railroad,  where  they  have  been  get 
ting  out  sand  for  the  brickyards,  the  delicate 
stratification  of  this  great  globe,  like  the  leaves 
of  the  choicest  volume  just  shut  on  a  lady's 
table !  The  piled  up  history !  I  am  struck  by 
the  slow  and  delicate  process  by  which  the  globe 
was  formed. 

What  an  ample  share  of  the  light  of  heaven 
each  pond  and  lake  011  the  surface  of  the  globe 
enjoys  !  No  woods  are  so  dark  and  deep  but  it 
is  light  above  the  pond.  Its  window  or  skylight 
is  as  broad  as  its  surface.  It  lies  out,  patent  to 
the  sky.  From  the  mountain  top  you  may  not 
be  able  to  see  out,  because  of  the  woods,  but  on 
the  lake  you  are  bathed  in  light. 


AUTUMN.  99 

Oct.  12, 1857.  The  elm,  I  think,  can  be  distin 
guished  farther  than  any  other  tree,  and  however 
faintly  seen  in  the  distant  horizon,  its  little  dark 
dome,  which  the  thickness  of  my  nail  will  con 
ceal,  apparently  not  so  big  as  the  prominence  on 
an  orange,  suggests  ever  the  same  quiet,  rural 
and  domestic  life  passing  beneath  it.  It  is  like 
the  vignette  to  an  unseen  idyllic  poem.  Though 
the  little  prominence  appears  so  dark  here,  I 
know  that  it  is  now  a  rich  brownish  or  yellow 
canopy  of  rustling  leaves,  whose  harvest  time 
has  already  come,  sending  down  its  showers 
from  time  to  time.  Homestead  telegraphs  to 
homestead  through  these  distant  elms  seen  from 
the  hilltops.  I  fancy  I  hear  the  house  dog 
bark,  and  lowing  of  the  cows  asking  admittance 
to  their  yard  beneath  it.  The  tea-table  is  spread. 
The  master  and  the  hired  men  in  their  shirt 
sleeves,  with  the  mistress,  have  just  sat  down. 

Oct.  12,  1858.  I  have  heard  of  judges  acci 
dentally  met  at  an  evening  party,  discussing  the 
efficacy  of  laws  and  courts,  and  deciding  that 
with  the  aid  of  the  jury  system  substantial  jus 
tice  was  done.  But  taking  those  cases  in  which 
honest  men  refrain  from  going  to  law,  together 
with  those  in  which  men  honest  and  dishonest 
do  go  to  law,  I  think  the  law  is  really  a  humbug, 
and  a  benefit  principally  to  the  lawyers.  This 
town  has  made  a  law  recently  against  cattle 


100  AUTUMN. 

going  at  large,  and  assigned  a  penalty  of  five 
dollars.  I  am  troubled  by  an  Irish  neighbor's 
cow  and  horse,  and  have  threatened  to  have  them 
put  in  the  pound.  But  a  lawyer  tells  me  these 
town  laws  are  hard  to  put  through,  there  are  so 
many  quibbles.  He  never  knew  the  complain 
ant  to  get  his  case,  if  the  defendant  had  a  mind 
to  contend.  However,  the  cattle  were  kept  out 
several  days,  till  a  Sunday  came,  and  then  they 
were  all  in  my  grounds  again,  as  I  heard,  but 
all  my  neighbors  tell  me  that  I  cannot  have 
them  impounded  on  that  day.  Indeed,  I  observe 
that  very  many  of  my  neighbors  do  for  this 
reason  regularly  turn  their  cattle  loose  on  Sun 
days.  The  judges  may  discuss  the  question  of 
the  courts  and  law  over  their  nuts  and  raisins, 
and  mumble  for  the  decision  that  "  substantial 
justice  is  done,"  but  I  must  believe  they  mean 
that  they  really  get  paid  a  "  substantial "  salary. 

Oct.  13,  1840.  The  only  prayer  for  a  brave 
man  is  to  be  a-doing.  This  is  the  prayer  that 
is  heard.  Why  ask  God  for  a  respite  when  he 
has  not  given  it?  Has  he  not  done  his  work, 
and  made  man  equal  to  his  occasions,  but  he 
must  needs  have  recourse  to  him  again  ?  God 
cannot  give  us  any  other  than  self-help. 

The  workers  in  stone  polish  only  their  chim 
ney  ornaments.  But  their  pyramids  are  roughly 
done.  There  is  a  soberness  in  a  rough  aspect, 


AUTUMN.  101 

in  unhewn  granite,  which  addresses  a  depth  in 
us,  but  the  polished  surface  only  hits  the  ball  of 
the  eye. 

The  draft  of  my  stove  sounds  like  the  dash 
ing  of  waves  on  the  shore,  and  the  lid  sings  like 
the  wind  in  the  shrouds.  The  steady  roar  of 
the  surf  on  the  beach  is  as  incessant  in  my  ear 
as  in  tjie  shell  on  the  mantelpiece.  I  see  ves 
sels  stranded,  and  gulls  flying,  and  fishermen 
running  to  and  fro  on  the  beach. 

Oct.  13,  1851.  The  alert  and  energetic  man 
leads  a  more  intellectual  life  in  winter  than  in 
summer.  In  summer  the  animal  and  vegetable 
in  him  flourish  more,  as  in  a  torrid  zone ;  he 
lives  in  his  senses  mainly.  In  winter  cold  rea 
son,  not  warm  passion,  has  sway ;  he  lives  in 
thought  and  reflection.  If  he  has  passed  a 
merely  sensual  summer,  he  passes  his  winter  in 
a  torpid  state  like  some  reptiles  and  other  ani 
mals.  Man  depends  more  on  himself,  his  own 
resources,  in  winter,  less  on  what  is  outward. 
Insects  disappear  for  the  most  part,  and  those 
animals  which  depend  upon  them,  but  the  nobler 
animals  abide  with  man  the  severity  of  winter. 
He  migrates  into  his  mind,  to  perpetual  summer, 
and  to  the  healthy  man  the  winter  of  his  discon 
tent  never  comes. 

Oct.  13,  1852.  p.  M.  To  Cliffs.  Fair  Haven 
Pond  never,  I  think,  looks  so  handsome  as  at 


102  AUTUMN. 

this  season.  It  is  a  sufficiently  clear  and  warm, 
a  rather  Indian  summer  day,  and  they  are  gath 
ering  the  apples  in  the  orchard.  The  warmth 
is  required  now,  and  we  welcome  and  appreciate 
it  all.  The  shrub-oak  plain  is  a  deep  red  with 
grayish,  withered,  apparently  white-oak  leaves 
intermixed.  The  chickadee  takes  heart  too,  and 
sings  above  these  warm  rocks.  Birches,B  hick 
ories,  aspens,  etc.,  are  like  innumerable  small 
flames  on  the  hillsides  about  the  pond,  which  is 
now  most  beautifully  framed  with  the  autumn- 
tinted  woods  and  hills.  The  water  or  lake,  from 
however  distant  a  point  seen,  is  always  the  cen 
tre  of  the  landscape.  Fair  Haven  lies  more 
open,  and  can  be  seen  from  more  distant  points 
than  any  other  of  our  ponds.  The  air  is  sin 
gularly  fine-grained,  the  sward  looks  short  and 
firm.  The  mountains  are  more  distinct  from  the 
rest  of  the  earth  and  slightly  impurpled,  seem 
ing  to  lie  up  more.  How  peaceful  great  nature  ! 
There  is  no  disturbing  sound,  but  far  amid  the 
western  hills  there  rises  a  pure,  white  smoke  in 
constant  volumes. 

Oct.  13, 1852.  To  Poplar  Hill.  Maple  fires 
are  burnt  out  generally,  and  look  smoky  in  the 
swamps.  When  my  eyes  were  resting  on  those 
smoke-like  bare  trees,  it  did  not  at  first  occur  to 
me  why  the  landscape  was  not  as  brilliant  as  a 
few  days  ago.  The  outside  trees  in  the  swamps 
lose  their  leaves  first. 


AUTUMN.  103 

I  see  a  pretty  large  flock  of  tree  sparrows, 
very  lively  and  tame,  pursuing  each  other  and 
drifting  along  a  bushy  fence  and  ditch  like 
driving  snow.  Two  pursuing  each  other  would 
curl  upward  like  a  breaker  in  the  air,  and  drop 
into  the  hedge  again.  This  has  been  the  ninth 
of  these  wonderful  days,  and  one  of  the  warm 
est.  I  am  obliged  to  sit  with  my  window  wide 
open  all  the  evening  as  well  as  all  day.  It  is  the 
earlier  Indian  summer. 

Oct.  13,  1859.  The  shad  bush  is  leafing 
again  by  the  sunny  swamp  side.  It  is  like  a 
youthful  or  poetic  thought  in  old  age.  Several 
times  I  have  been  cheered  by  this  sight  when 
surveying  in  former  years.  The  chickadee 
seems  to  lisp  a  sweeter  note  at  the  sight  of  it. 
I  would  not  fear  the  winter  more  than  the  shad 
bush,  which  puts  forth  fresh  and  tender  leaves 
on  its  approach.  In  the  fall  I  will  take  this  for 
my  coat  of  arms.  It  seems  to  detain  the  sun 
that  expands  it.  These  twigs  are  so  full  of  life 
that  they  can  hardly  contain  themselves.  They 
ignore  winter.  They  anticipate  spring.  What 
faith!  Away  in  some  sheltered  recess  of  the 
swamp  you  find  where  these  leaves  have  ex 
panded.  In  my  latter  years  let  me  have  some 
shad-bush  thoughts. 

I  perceive  the  peculiar  scent  of  witch  hazel 
in  bloom  for  several  rods  around,  which  at  first 
I  refer  to  the  decaying  leaves. 


104  AUTUMN. 

British  naturalists  very  generally  apologize  to 
the  reader  for  having  devoted  their  attention  to 
natural  history  to  the  neglect  of  some  important 
duty. 

I  remember  seeing  in  an  old  work  a  plate  of 
a  fungus  which  grew  in  a  wine-cellar  and  got  its 
name  from  that  circumstance.  It  is  related  in 
"  Chambers'  Journal "  that  Sir  Joseph  Banks, 
having  ordered  a  cask  of  wine  to  be  placed  in 
a  cellar  in  order  to  improve  it,  "  at  the  end  of 
three  years  he  directed  his  butler  to  ascertain 
the  state  of  the  wine,  when  on  attempting  to 
open  the  cellar  door,  he  could  not  effect  it  in 
consequence  of  some  powerful  obstacle.  The 
door  was  consequently  cut  down,  when  the  cellar 
was  found  to  be  completely  filled  with  a  fungus 
production  so  firm  that  it  was  necessary  to  use 
an  axe  for  its  removal.  This  appeared  to  have 
grown  from,  or  to  have  been  nourished  by  the 
decomposing  particles  of  the  wine,  the  cask 
being  empty  and  carried  up  to  the  ceiling,  where 
it  was  supported  by  the  fungus."  Perhaps  it 
was  well  that  the  fungus  instead  of  Sir  Joseph 
Banks  drank  up  the  wine.  The  life  of  a  wine- 
bibber  is  like  that  of  a  fungus. 

Oct.  13,  1860.  The  scientific  differs  from 
the  poetic  or  lively  description  somewhat  as  the 
photographs  which  we  become  so  weary  of  view 
ing  differ  from  paintings  and  sketches,  though 


AUTUMN.  105 

the  comparison  is  too  favorable  to  science.  All 
science  is  only  a  makeshift,  a  means  to  an  end 
which  is  never  attained.  After  all,  the  truest 
description  and  that  by  which  another  living 
man  can  most  readily  recognize  a  flower,  is  the 
unmeasured  and  eloquent  one  which  the  sight  of 
it  inspires.  No  scientific  description  will  supply 
the  want  of  this,  though  you  should  count  and 
measure  and  analyze  every  atom  which  seems  to 
compose  it.  Surely  poetry  and  eloquence  are  a 
more  universal  language  than  that  Latin  which 
is  confessedly  dead.  In  science  I  should  say  all 
description  is  postponed  till  we  know  the  whole, 
and  then  science  itself  will  be  cast  aside.  But 
unconsidered  expressions  of  delight  which  any 
natural  object  draws  from  us  are  something 
complete  and  final  in  themselves,  since  all  nature 
is  to  be  regarded  as  it  concerns  man,  and  who 
knows  how  near  to  absolute  truth  such  uncon 
scious  affirmations  may  come.  Which  are  the 
truest,  the  sublime  conceptions  of  Hebrew  pro 
phets  and  seers,  or  the  guarded  statements  of 
modern  geologists  which  we  must  modify  or  un 
learn  so  fast  ?  A  scientific  description  is  such 
as  you  would  get,  if  you  should  send  out  the 
scholars  of  the  polytechnic  school  with  all  sorts 
of  metres  made  and  patented  to  take  the  measure 
for  you  of  any  natural  object.  In  a  sense,  you 
have  got  nothing  new  thus,  for  every  object  that 


106  AUTUMN. 

we  see  mechanically  is  mechanically  daguerreo- 
typed  on  our  eyes,  but  a  true  description  growing 
out  of  the  conception  and  appreciation  of  it  is 
itself  a  new  fact,  never  to  be  daguerreotyped, 
indicating  the  highest  quality  of  the  object,  its 
relation  to  man.  The  one  description  interests 
those  chiefly  who  have  not  seen  the  thing,  the 
other  chiefly  interests  those  who  have  seen  it 
and  are  most  familiar  with  it,  and  brings  it 
home  to  the  reader.  We  like  to  read  a  good 
description  of  nothing  so  well  as  of  that  which 
we  already  know  the  best,  as  our  friend  or  our 
selves  even. 

Gerard  has  not  only  heard  of  and  seen  and 
raised  a  plant,  but  smelled  and  tasted  it,  applied 
all  his  senses  to  it.  You  are  not  distracted  from 
the  thing  to  the  system  or  arrangement.  In  the 
true  natural  order,  the  order  or  system  is  not 
insisted  on.  Each  object  is  first,  and  each  last. 
That  which  presents  itself  to  us  this  moment, 
occupies  the  whole  of  the  present,  and  rests  on 
the  very  topmost  point  of  the  sphere,  under  the 
zenith.  The  species  and  individuals  of  all  the 
natural  kingdoms  ask  our  attention  and  admira 
tion  in  a  round  robin.  We  make  straight  lines, 
putting  a  captain  at  the  head  and  a  lieutenant  at 
the  tail,  with  sergeants  and  corporals  all  along 
the  line,  and  a  flourish  of  trumpets  at  the  begin 
ning,  where  nature  has  made  curves  to  which 


AUTUMN.  107 

belong  their  own  sphere  music.  It  is  indispens 
able  for  us  to  square  her  circles,  and  we  offer 
our  rewards  to  him  who  will  do  it.  The  best 
observer  describes  the  most  familiar  object  with 
a  zest  and  vividness  of  imagery  as  if  he  saw  it 
for  the  first  time,  the  novelty  consisting  not  in 
the  strangeness  of  the  object,  but  in  the  new  and 
clearer  perception  of  it. 

Oct.  14, 1851.  Down  the  railroad  before  sun 
rise.  A  freight  train  in  the  Deep  Cut.  When 
the  vapor  from  the  engine  rose  above  the  woods, 
the  level  rays  of  the  rising  sun  falling  on  it  pre 
sented  the  same  redness,  morning  red  inclining 
to  saffron,  which  the  clouds  in  the  western  hori 
zon  do. 

There  was  but  little  wind  this  morning,  yet  I 
heard  the  telegraph  harp.  It  does  not  require  a 
strong  wind  to  wake  its  strings.  It  depends 
more  on  its  direction  and  the  tension  of  the  wire 
apparently.  A  gentle  but  steady  breeze  will 
often  call  forth  its  finest  strains,  when  a  strong 
but  unsteady  gale,  blowing  at  the  wrong  angle 
withal,  will  fail  to  elicit  any  melodious  sound. 

In  the  psychological  world,  there  are  pheno 
mena  analogous  to  what  zoologists  call  alternate 
reproduction,  in  which  it  requires  several  gen 
erations  unlike  each  other  to  evolve  the  perfect 
animal.  Some  men's  lives  are  but  an  aspira 
tion,  a  yearning  toward  a  higher  state,  and  they 


108  AUTUMN. 

are  wholly  misapprehended  until  they  are  re 
ferred  to  or  traced  through  all  their  metamor 
phoses.  We  cannot  pronounce  upon  a  man's 
intellectual  and  moral  state  until  we  foresee 
what  metamorphosis  it  is  preparing  him  for. 

Oct.  14, 1856.  Any  flowers  seen  now  may  be 
called  late  ones.  I  see  perfectly  fresh  succory, 
not  to  speak  of  yarrow,  a  Viola  ovata,  some  Pol- 
ygala  sanguined,  autumnal  dandelion,  tansy,  etc. 

Oct.  14,  1857.  P.  M.  To  White  Pond.  An 
other,  the  tenth  or  eleventh  of  these  memorable 
days.  This  afternoon  it  is  warmer  even  than 
yesterday.  I  am  glad  to  reach  the  shade  of 
Hubbard's  Grove.  The  coolness  is  refreshing. 
It  is  indeed  a  golden  autumn.  All  kinds  of 
crudities  have  a  chance  to  get  ripe  this  year. 
Was  there  ever  such  an  autumn?  And  yet 
there  was  never  such  a  panic  and  hard  times 
in  the  commercial  world.  The  merchants  and 
banks  are  failing  all  the  country  over,  but  not 
the  sand  banks,  solid  and  warm,  and  streaked 
with  bloody  blackberry  vines.  You  may  run  on 
them  as  much  as  you  please,  even  as  the  crickets 
do,  and  find  their  account  in  it.  They  are  the 
stockholders  in  these  banks,  and  I  hear  them 
creaking  their  content.  You  may  see  them  on 
change  in  any  warmer  hour.  In  these  banks, 
too,  and  such  as  these,  are  my  funds  deposited, 
funds  of  health  and  enjoyment.  Invest  in  these 


AUTUMN.  109 

country  banks.  Let  your  capital  be  simplicity 
and  contentment.  I  do  not  suspect  the  solvency 
of  these  banks.  I  know  who  is  the  president 
and  cashier. 

I  take  these  walks  to  every  point  of  the  com 
pass,  and  it  is  always  harvest  time  with  me.  I 
am  always  gathering  my  crop  from  these  woods 
and  fields  and  waters,  and  no  man  is  in  my 
way,  or  interferes  with  me.  My  crop  is  not 
their  crop.  To-day  I  see  them  getting  in  their 
beans  and  corn,  and  they  are  a  spectacle  to  me, 
but  are  soon  out  of  my  sight.  I  go  abroad 
over  the  land  each  day  to  get  the  best  I  can 
find,  and  that  is  never  carted  off,  even  to  the 
last  day  of  November. 

Sat  in  the  old  pasture  beyond  the  Corner 
Spring  woods  to  look  at  that  pine  wood  now  at 
the  height  of  its  change,  pitch  and  white.  Their 
change  produces  a  very  singular  and  pleasing 
effect.  They  are  regularly  parti-colored.  The 
last  year's  leaves  about  a  foot  beneath  the  ex 
tremities  of  the  twigs  on  all  sides,  now  changed 
and  ready  to  fall,  have  their  period  of  bright 
ness  as  well  as  broader  leaves.  They  are  a 
clear  yellow,  contrasting  with  the  fresh  and 
liquid  green  of  the  terminal  plumes,  or  this 
year's  leaves.  These  quite  distinct  colors  are 
regularly  and  equally  distributed  over  the  whole 
tree.  You  have  the  warmth  of  the  yellow  and 


110  AUTUMN. 

the  coolness  of  the  green.  So  it  should  be  with 
our  own  maturity,  not  yellow  to  the  very  extrem 
ity  of  our  shoots,  but  youthful  and  untried  green 
ever  putting  forth  afresh  at  the  extremities, 
foretelling  a  maturity  as  yet  unknown.  The 
ripe  leaves  fall  to  the  ground,  and  become  nu 
triment  for  the  green  ones  which  still  aspire  to 
heaven.  In  the  fall  of  the  leaf  there  is  no  fruit, 
there  is  no  true  maturity,  neither  in  our  "science 
and  wisdom. 

Oct.  14,  1859.  To  and  around  Flint's  Pond 
with  Blake.  A  fine  Indian -summer  day.  We 
sit  on  the  rock  on  Pine  Hill  overlooking  Wai- 
den.  There  is  a  thick  haze  almost  concealing 
the  mountains.  There  is  wind  enough  to  raise 
waves  on  the  pond  and  make  it  bluer.  What 
strikes  me  in  the  scenery  here  now  is  the  contrast 
of  the  universally  blue  water  with  the  brilliant 
tinted  woods  around  it.  The  tints  generally 
may  be  about  at  their  height.  The  earth  ap 
pears  like  a  great  inverted  shield  painted  yellow 
and  red,  or  with  imbricated  scales  of  those  col 
ors,  and  a  blue  navel  in  the  middle  where  the 
pond  lies,  with  a  distant  circumference  of  whit 
ish  haze.  The  nearer  woods  where  chestnuts 
grow  are  a  mass  of  warm  glowing  yellow,  but  on 
other  sides  the  red  and  yellow  are  intermixed. 

I  hear  a  man  laughed  at  because  he  went  to 
Europe  twice  in  search  of  an  imaginary  wife 


AUTUMN.  Ill 

who  he  thought  was  there,  though  he  had  never 
seen  nor  heard  of  her.  But  the  majority  have 
gone  further  while  they  stayed  in  America,  have 
actually  allied  themselves  to  one  whom  they 
thought  their  wife,  and  found  out  their  mistake 
too  late  to  mend  it.  It  would  be  cruel  to  laugh 
at  them. 

Oct.  15,  1840.  Men  see  God  in  the  ripple, 
but  not  in  miles  of  still  water.  Of  all  the  two 
thousand  miles  that  the  St.  Lawrence  flows,  pil 
grims  go  only  to  Niagara. 

Oct.  15,  1851.  8.30  A.  M.  Up  the  river  in 
a  boat  to  Pelham's  Pond  with  W.  E.  C.  The 
muskrat  houses  appear  now,  for  the  most  part, 
to  be  finished,  though  some  are  still  rising. 
They  line  the  river  all  the  way.  Some  are  as 
big  as  small  haycocks.  There  is  a  wind,  and 
the  sky  is  full  of  flitting  clouds,  so  that  sky  and 
water  are  quite  unlike  what  they  were  that 
warm,  bright,  transparent  day  when  I  last  sailed 
on  the  river  and  the  surface  was  of  such  oily 
smoothness.  You  could  not  now  study  the  river 
bottom  for  the  black  waves  and  the  streaks  of 
foam.  It  is  pleasant  to  hear  the  sound  of  the 
waves,  and  feel  the  surging  of  the  boat,  inspir 
iting,  as  if  you  were  bound  on  adventures.  It 
is  delightful  to  be  tossed  about  in  such  a  harm 
less  storm,  and  see  the  waves  look  so  angry 
and  black.  We  see  objects  on  shore,  trees,  etc., 


112  AUTUMN. 

much  better  from  the  boat.  From  a  low  and 
novel  point  of  view,  it  brings  them  against  the 
sky,  and  what  is  low  on  the  meadow  is  conspicu 
ous  as  well  as  the  hills.  In  this  cool  sunlight, 
Fair  Haven  Hill  shows  to  advantage.  Every 
rock  and  shrub  and  protuberance  has  justice 
done  it,  the  sun  shining  at  an  angle  on  the  hills 
and  giving  each  a  shadow.  The  hills  have  a 
hard  and  distinct  outline,  and  I  see  into  their 
very  texture.  On  Fair  Haven  I  see  the  sunlit 
light  green  grass  in  the  hollows  where  the  snow 
makes  pools  of  water  sometimes,  and  the  sunlit 
russet  slopes.  Cut  three  white-pine  boughs  op 
posite  Fair  Haven,  and  set  them  up  in  the  bow 
of  our  boat  for  a  sail.  It  was  pleasant  to  hear 
the  water  begin  to  ripple  under  the  prow,  telling 
of  our  easy  progress,  and  thus  without  a  tack 
we  made  the  south  side  of  Fair  Haven.  Then 
we  threw  our  sails  overboard,  and  the  moment 
after  mistook  them  for  green  bushes  or  weeds 
which  had  sprung  from  the  bottom  unusually 
far  from  shore.  Then  to  hear  the  wind  sough 
in  your  sail,  that  is  to  be  a  sailor  and  hear  a 
land  sound.  ...  On  the  return  .  .  .  the  sun 
sets  when  we  are  off  Israel  Rice's.  A  few  golden 
coppery  clouds  glow  intensely  like  fishes  in  some 
molten  metal  of  the  sky,  then  the  small  scattered 
clouds  grow  blue-black  above,  or  one  half,  and 
reddish  or  pink  the  other  half,  and  after  a  short 


AUTUMN.  113 

twilight  the  night  sets  in.  The  reflections  of 
the  stars  in  the  water  are  dim  and  elongated 
like  the  zodiacal  light,  straight  down  into  the 
depths.  We  row  across  Fair  Haven  in  the 
thickening  twilight  and  far  below  it,  steadily  and 
without  speaking.  As  the  night  draws  on  her 
veil,  the  shores  retreat,  we  only  keep  in  the  mid 
dle  of  this  low  stream  of  light,  we  know  not 
whether  we  float  in  the  air  or  in  the  lower  re 
gions.  It  is  pleasant  not  to  get  home  till  after 
dark,  to  steer  by  the  lights  of  the  villagers. 

The  lamps  in  the  houses  twinkle  now  like 
stars;  they  shine  doubly  bright.  We  rowed 
about  twenty-four  miles  going  and  coming.  In 
a  straight  line  it  would  be  fifteen  and  a  half. 

Oct.  15,  1852.  9  A.  M.  The  first  snow  is 
falling  (after  not  veiy  cool  weather)  in  large 
flakes,  filling  the  air  and  obscuring  the  distant 
woods  "and  houses,  as  if  the  inhabitants  above 
were  emptying  their  pillow-cases.  Like  a  mist 
it  divides  the  uneven  landscape  at  a  little  dis 
tance  into  ridges  and  vales.  The  ground  begins 
to  whiten  and  our  thoughts  to  prepare  for  win 
ter.  White-weed.  The  Canada  snapdragon  is 
one  of  the  latest  flowers  noticed,  a  few  buds  be 
ing  still  left  to  blossom  at  the  top  of  its  spike 
or  raceme.  The  snow  lasted  but  half  an  hour. 

How  Father  Le  Jeune  (?)  pestered  the  poor 
Indians  with  his  God  at  every  turn  (they  must 


114  AUTUMN. 

have  thought  it  his  one  idea),  only  getting  their 
attention  when  they  required  some  external  aid 
to  save  them  from  starving.  Then  indeed  they 
were  good  Christians. 

Oct.  15,  1858.  If  you  stand  fronting  a  hill 
side  covered  with  a  variety  of  young  oaks,  the 
brightest  scarlet  ones  —  uniformly  deep,  dark 
scarlet — will  be  the  scarlet  oaks.  The  next 
most  uniformly  reddish,  a  peculiar  dull  crimson 
(or  salmon  ?),  are  the  white  oaks.  Then  the 
large-leaved  and  variously  tinted  red  oaks,  scar 
let,  yellow,  and  green,  and  finally  the  yellowish 
and  half-decayed  brown  leaves  of  the  black  oak. 

Oct.  15,  1859.  The  chickadees  sing  as  if  at 
home.  Theirs  is  an  honest,  heartfelt  melody. 
Shall  not  the  voice  of  man  express  as  much  con 
tent  as  the  note  of  a  bird  ? 

Oct.  16,  1857.  P.  M.  Up  Assabet.  I  stop 
a  while  at  Cheney's  shore  to  hear  an  incessant 
musical  twittering  from  a  large  flock  of  young 
goldfinches  which  have  dull  yellow,  drab  and 
black  plumage.  Young  birds  can  hardly  re 
strain  themselves,  and,  if  they  did  not  leave  us, 
might  perchance  burst  forth  into  song  in  the 
later  Indian-summer  days.  Am  surprised  to  find 
an  abundance  of  witch  hazel  now  at  the  height  of 
its  change.  The  tallest  bushes  are  bare,  though 
in  bloom  ;  but  the  lowest  are  full  of  leaves, 
many  of  them  green,  but  chiefly  clear  and  hand- 


AUTUMN.  115 

some  yellow  of  various  shades,  from  a  pale 
lemon  in  the  shade  or  within  the  bush,  to  a 
darker  and  warmer  yellow  without.  Some  have 
even  a  hue  of  crimson  ;  some  are  green  with 
bright  yellow  along  the  veins.  This  reminds 
me  that  plants  exposed  turn  early,  or  not  at  all, 
while  the  same  species  in  the  shade  of  the  woods 
at  a  much  later  date  assume  very  pure  and 
delicate  tints. 

A  great  part  of  the  pine  needles  have  just 
fallen.  See  the  pale  brown  carpet  of  them  un 
der  this  pine ;  how  light  it  lies  up  on  the  grass, 
and  that  great  rock,  and  the  wall,  resting  thick 
on  its  top  and  its  shelves,  and  on  the  bushes  and 
underwood.  The  needles  are  not  yet  flat  and 
reddish,  but  a  more  delicate  pale  brown,  and  lie 
up  light  on  joggle  -  sticks,  just  dropped.  The 
ground  is  nearly  concealed  by  them.  How  beau 
tifully  they  die,  making  cheerfully  their  annual 
contribution  to  the  soil.  They  fall  to  rise  again  ; 
as  if  they  knew  that  it  was  not  one  annual  de 
posit  alone  that  made  this  rich  mould  in  which 
pine-trees  grow.  They  live  in  the  soil  whose 
fertility  and  bulk  they  increase,  and  in  the  for 
ests  that  spring  from  it. 

Oct.  16, 1859.  P.  M.  Paddle  to  Puffer's,  and 
thence  walk  to  Ledum  Swamp  and  Conant- 
ward.  A  cold,  clear  Novemberish  day.  When 
I  get  to  Willow  Bay,  I  see  the  new  muskrat 


116  AUTUMN. 

houses  erected,  conspicuous  on  the  now  nearly 
leafless  shores.  For  thirty  years  I  have  annually 
observed,  about  this  time  or  earlier,  the  freshly 
erected  winter  lodges  of  the  muskrat  along  the 
river-side,  reminding  us  that,  if  we  have  no  gyp 
sies,  we  have  a  more  indigenous  race  of  puny, 
quadrupedal  men  maintaining  their  ground  in  our 
midst  still.  This  may  not  be  an  annual  pheno 
menon  to  you,  but  it  has  an  important  place  in 
my  Kalendar.  So  surely  as  the  sun  appears  to 
be  in  Libra  or  Scorpio,  I  see  the  conical  winter 
lodges  of  the  muskrat  rising  above  the  withered 
pontederia  and  flags.  There  will  be  some  refer 
ence  to  it  by  way  of  parable  or  otherwise  in  my 
New  Testament.  Surely  it  is  a  defect  in  our 
Bible  that  it  is  not  truly  ours,  but  a  Hebrew 
Bible.  The  most  pertinent  illustrations  for  us 
are  to  be  drawn  not  from  Egypt  or  Babylonia, 
but  from  New  England.  Natural  objects  and 
phenomena  are  the  original  symbols  or  types 
which  express  our  thoughts  and  feelings.  Yet 
American  scholars,  having  little  or  no  root  in 
the  soil,  commonly  strive  with  all  their  might  to 
confine  themselves  to  the  imported  symbols  alone. 
All  the  true  growth  and  experience,  the  living 
speech,  they  would  fain  reject  as  "  American 
isms."  It  is  the  old  error  which  the  church,  the 
state,  the  school,  ever  commit,  choosing  darkness 
rather  than  light,  holding  fast  to  the  old  and  to 


AUTUMN.  117 

tradition.  When  I  really  know  that  our  river 
pursues  a  serpentine  course  to  the  Merrimack, 
shall  I  continue  to  describe  it  by  referring  to 
some  other  river,  no  older  than  itself,  which  is 
like  it,  and  call  it  a  meander?  It  is  no  more 
meandering  than  the  Meander  is  musketaquid- 
ing. 

This  clear,  cold,  Novemberish  light  is  inspirit 
ing.  Some  twigs  which  are  bare,  and  weeds,  be 
gin  to  glitter  with  hoary  light.  The  very  edge 
or  outline  of  a  tawny  or  russet  hill  has  this  hoary 
light  on  it.  Your  thoughts  sparkle  like  the 
water  surface  and  the  downy  twigs.  From  the 
shore  you  look  back  on  the  silver-plated  river. 

Every  rain  exposes  new  arrow-heads.  We 
stop  at  Clamshell,  and  dabble  for  a  moment  in 
the  relics  of  a  departed  race. 

When  we  emerged  from  the  pleasant  footpath 
through  the  birches  at  Witherel  Glade,  the  glit 
tering  white  tufts  of  the  Andropogon  scoparius 
lit  up  by  the  sun  were  affectingly  fair  and  cheer 
ing  to  behold.  How  cheerful  these  cold,  but 
bright,  white  waving  tufts  !  They  reflect  all  the 
sun's  light  without  a  particle  of  his  heat,  as  yel 
low  rays.  A  thousand  such  tufts  now  catch  up 
the  sun,  and  send  to  us  its  light,  but  not  heat. 
Light  without  heat  is  getting  to  be  the  prevail 
ing  phenomenon  of  the  day  now. 

This   cold   refines   and   condenses   us.      Our 


118  AUTUMN. 

spirits  are  strong,  like  that  pint  of  cider  in  the 
middle  of  a  frozen  barrel. 

The  cool,  placid,  silver-plated  waters  at  even 
coolly  await  the  frost.  The  muskrat  is  steadily 
adding  to  his  winter  lodge.  There  is  no  need  of 
adding  a  peculiar  instinct  telling  him  how  high 
to  build  his  cabin.  He  has  had  a  longer  experi 
ence  in  this  river  valley  than  we. 

I  love  to  get  out  of  cultivated  fields,  where  I 
walk  on  an  imported  sod  or  English  grass,  and 
walk  on  the  fine  sedge  of  woodland  hollows,  on 
an  American  sward.  In  the  former  case  my 
thoughts  are  heavy  and  lumpish,  as  if  I  fed  on 
turnips.  In  the  other,  I  nibble  ground  nuts. 

Oct.  17,  1840.  In  the  presence  of  my  friend 
I  am  ashamed  of  my  fingers  and  toes.  I  have 
no  feature  so  fair  as  my  love  for  him.  There  is 
a  more  than  maiden  modesty  between  us.  I 
find  myself  more  simple  and  sincere  than  in  my 
most  private  moment  to  myself.  I  am  literally 
true  with  a  witness.  We  should  sooner  blot  out 
the  sun  than  disturb  friendship. 

Oct.  17,  1850.  I  observed  to-day  the  small 
blueberry  bushes  by  the  pathside,  now  blood-red, 
full  of  white  blossoms,  as  in  the  spring.  The 
blossoms  of  spring  contrast  strangely  with  the 
leaves  of  autumn.  The  former  seemed  to  have 
expanded  from  sympathy  with  the  maturity  of 
the  leaves. 


AUTUMN.  119 

Oct.  17,  1856.  Many  fringed  gentians  quite 
fresh  yet,  though  most  are  faded  and  withered. 
I  suspect  that  their  very  early  and  sudden  fading 
and  withering  has  nothing  or  little  to  do  with 
frost  after  all,  for  why  should  so  many  fresh 
ones  succeed  still  ? 

As  I  stood  looking,  I  heard  a  smart  tche- 
day-day-day  close  to  my  ear,  and  looking  up 
saw  four  or  five  chickadees  which  had  come  to 
scrape  acquaintance  with  me,  hopping  amid  the 
alders  within  three  or  four  feet  of  me.  I  had 
heard  them  further  off  at  first,  and  they  had 
followed  me  along  the  hedge.  They  day-day 'd, 
and  lisped  their  faint  notes  alternately,  and 
then,  as  if  to  make  me  think  they  had  some 
other  errand  than  to  peer  at  me,  they  pecked  the 
dead  twigs,  the  little  top-heavy,  black-crowned, 
volatile  fellows. 

Oct.  17,  1857.  What  a  new  beauty  the  blue 
of  the  river  acquires  seen  at  a  distance  in  the 
midst  of  the  variously  tinted  woods,  great  masses 
of  gray,  yellow,  etc. !  It  appears  as  color  which 
ordinarily  it  does  not,  elysian. 

The  trainers  are  out  with  their  band  of  music, 
and  I  find  my  account  in  it,  though  I  have  not 
subscribed  for  it.  I  am  walking  with  a  hill  be 
tween  me  and  the  soldiers.  I  think  perhaps  it 
will  be  worth  while  to  keep  within  hearing  of 
their  strains  this  afternoon.  Yet  I  hesitate.  I 


120  AUTUMN. 

am  wont  to  find  music  unprofitable,  a  luxury.  It 
is  surprising,  however,  that  so  few  habitually 
intoxicate  themselves  with  music,  so  many  with 
alcohol.  I  think,  perchance,  I  may  risk  it,  it 
will  whet  my  senses  so,  it  will  reveal  a  glory 
where  none  was  seen  before.  No  doubt  these 
strains  do  sometimes  suggest  to  Abner,  walking 
behind  in  his  red-streaked  pants,  an  ideal  which 
he  had  lost  sight  of  or  never  perceived.  It  is 
remarkable  that  our  institutions  can  stand  before 
music,  it  is  so  revolutionary. 

Oct.  17,  1858.  I  think  the  reflections  are 
never  purer  and  more  distinct  than  now  at  the 
season  of  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  just  before  the  cool 
twilight  has  come,  when  the  air  has  a  finer  grain, 
just  as  our  mental  reflections  are  more  distinct 
at  this  season  of  the  year  when  the  evenings 
grow  cool  and  lengthen,  and  our  winter  evenings 
with  their  brighter  fires  may  be  said  to  begin. 
One  reason  why  I  associate  perfect  reflections 
from  still  water  with  this  and  a  later  season  may 
be  that  now  by  the  fall  of  the  leaves  so  much 
more  light  is  let  in  to  the  water.  The  river  re 
flects  more  light,  therefore,  in  this  twilight  of 
the  year,  as  it  were,  an  afterglow. 

Oct.  17,  1859.  What  I  put  into  my  pocket, 
whether  berry  or  apple,  generally  has  to  keep 
company  with  an  arrow-head  or  two.  I  hear  the 
latter  chinking  against  a  key  as  I  walk.  These 


AUTUMN.  121 

are  the  perennial  crop  of  Concord  fields.  If 
they  were  sure  it  would  pay,  we  should  see 
farmers  raking  the  fields  for  them. 

Oct.  17,  1860.  While  the  man  that  kiUed 
my  lynx  thinks,  as  do  many  others,  that  it  came 
out  of  a  menagerie,  and  the  naturalists  call  it 
the  Canada  lynx,  and  at  the  White  Mountains 
they  call  it  the  Siberian  lynx,  in  each  case  forget 
ting  or  ignoring  the  fact  that  it  belongs  here,  I 
call  it  the  Concord  lynx. 

Oct.  18,  1840.  The  era  of  greatest  change  is 
to  the  subject  of  it  the  condition  of  greatest  in- 
variableness.  The  longer  the  lever,  the  less  per 
ceptible  its  motion.  It  is  the  slowest  pulsation 
which  is  the  most  vital.  I  am  independent  of 
the  change  I  detect.  My  most  essential  progress 
must  be  to  me  a  state  of  absolute  rest.  So  in 
geology  we  are  nearest  to  discovering  the  true 
causes  of  the  revolutions  of  the  globe,  when  we 
allow  them  to  consist  with  a  quiescent  state  of 
the  elements.  We  discover  the  causes  of  all 
past  change  in  the  present  invariable  order  of 
the  universe.  The  pulsations  are  so  long  that 
in  the  interval  there  is  almost  a  stagnation  of 
life.  The  first  cause  of  the  universe  makes  the 
least  noise.  Its  pulse  has  beat  but  once,  is  now 
beating.  The  greatest  appreciable  revolutions 
are  the  work  of  the  light-footed  air,  the  stealthy- 
paced  water,  and  the  subterranean  fire.  The 


122  AUTUMN. 

wind  makes  the  desert  without  a  rustle.  To 
every  being,  consequently,  its  own  first  cause  is 
an  invisible  and  inconceivable  agent. 

Some  questions  which  are  put  to  me  are  as  if 
I  should  ask  a  bird  what  she  will  do  when  her 
nest  is  built,  and  her  brood  reared. 

I  cannot  make  a  disclosure.  You  should  see 
my  secret.  Let  me  open  my  doors  never  so 
wide,  still  within  and  behind  them,  where  it  is 
unopened,  does  the  sun  rise  and  set,  and  day 
and  night  alternate.  No  fruit  will  ripen  on  the 
common. 

Oct.  18,  1855.  How  much  beauty  in  decay ! 
I  pick  up  a  white-oak  leaf,  dry  and  stiff,  but 
yet  mingled  red  and  green,  October-like,  whose 
pulpy  part  some  insect  has  eaten,  beneath,  expos 
ing  the  delicate  network  of  its  veins.  It  is 
very  beautiful  held  up  to  the  light ;  such  work 
as  only  an  insect  eye  could  perform.  Yet,  per 
chance,  to  the  vegetable  kingdom,  such  a  revela 
tion  of  ribs  is  as  repulsive  as  the  skeleton  in  the 
animal  kingdom.  In  each  case,  it  is  some  little 
gourmand  working  for  another  end,  that  reveals 
the  wonders  of  nature.  There  are  countless  oak 
leaves  in  this  condition  now,  and  also  with  a 
submarginal  line  of  network  exposed. 

Oct.  18,  1856.  Rain  all  night  and  half  this 
day.  P.  M.  A-chestnutting,  down  turnpike  and 
across  to  Britten's.  It  is  a  rich  sight,  that  of 


AUTUMN.  123 

a  large  chestnut  tree,  with  a  dome-shaped  top, 
where  the  yellow  leaves  have  been  thinned  out 
(for  most  now  strew  the  ground  evenly  as  a  car 
pet  throughout  the  chestnut  woods,  and  so  save 
some  seed),  all  richly  rough  with  great  brown 
burrs  which  are  opened  into  several  segments,  so 
as  to  show  the  wholesome-colored  nuts  peeping 
forth,  ready  to  fall  on  the  slightest  jar.  The  in 
dividual  nuts  are  very  interesting,  and  of  various 
forms,  according  to  the  season  and  the  number 
in  a  burr.  They  are  a  pretty  fruit,  thus  com 
pactly  stowed  away  in  their  bristly  chest.  Three 
is  the  regular  number,  and  there  is  no  room  to 
spare.  The  two  outside  nuts  have  each  one  con 
vex  side  without,  and  one  flat  side  within.  The 
middle  nut  has  two  flat  sides.  Sometimes  there 
are  several  more  in  a  burr,  but  this  year  the 
burrs  are  small,  and  there  are  not  commonly 
more  than  two  good  nuts,  very  often  only  one, 
the  middle  one,  both  sides  of  which  will  then  be 
convex,  each  bulging  out  into  a  thin,  abortive, 
mere  reminiscence  of  a  nut,  all  shell,  beyond  it. 
The  base  of  each  nut,  where  it  was  joined  to  the 
burr,  is  marked  with  an  irregular  dark  figure  on 
a  light  ground,  oblong  or  crescent-shaped,  com 
monly  like  a  spider  or  other  insect  with  a  dozen 
legs,  while  the  upper  or  small  end  tapers  into  a 
little  white  woolly  spire  crowned  with  a  star,  and 
the  whole  upper  slopes  of  the  nuts  are  covered 


124  AUTUMN. 

with  the  same  hoary  wool  which  reminds  you  of 
the  frosts  on  whose  advent  they  peep  forth. 
Within  this  thick,  prickly  burr,  the  nuts  are 
about  as  safe,  until  they  are  quite  mature,  as  a 
porcupine  behind  its  spines.  Yet  I  see  where 
the  squirrels  have  gnawed  through  many  closed 
burrs,  and  left  the  pieces  on  the  stumps.  There 
are  sometimes  two  meats  within  one  chestnut 
shell,  divided  transversely,  and  each  covered  by 
its  separate  brown-ribbed  skin,  as  if  nature  had 
smuggled  the  seed  of  one  more  tree  into  this  chest. 
Men  commonly  exaggerate  the  theme.  Some 
themes  they  think  are  significant,  and  others  in 
significant.  I  feel  that  my  life  is  very  homely, 
my  pleasures  very  cheap ;  joy  and  sorrow,  suc 
cess  and  failure,  grandeur  and  meanness,  and 
indeed  most  words  in  the  English  language,  do 
not  mean  for  me  what  they  do  for  my  neighbors. 
I  see  that  they  look  with  compassion  on  me,  that 
they  think  it  is  a  mean  and  unfortunate  destiny 
which  makes  me  walk  in  these  fields  and  woods 
so  much,  and  sail  on  this  river  alone.  But  so 
long  as  I  find  here  the  only  real  elysium,  I  can- 
iiot  hesitate  in  my  choice.  My  work  is  writing, 
and  I  do  not  hesitate,  though  no  subject  is  too 
trivial  for  me,  tried  by  the  ordinary  standards. 
The  theme  is  nothing,  the  life  is  everything. 
All  that  interests  the  reader  is  the  depth  and 
intensity  of  the  life  exerted.  We  touch  our 


AUTUMN.  125 

subject  but  by  a  point  which  has  no  breadth,  but 
the  pyramid  of  our  experience,  our  interest  in  it, 
rests  on  us  by  a  broader  or  narrower  base  ;  that 
is,  man  is  all  in  all,  nature  nothing  but  as  she 
draws  him  out  and  reflects  him.  Give  me  sim 
ple,  cheap,  and  homely  themes. 

Oct.  18,  1859.  Why  can  we  not  oftener  re 
fresh  one  another  with  original  thoughts?  If 
the  fragrance  of  the  Dicksonia  fern  is  so  grate 
ful  and  suggestive  to  us,  how  much  more  refresh 
ing  and  encouraging,  re-creating,  would  be  fresh 
and  fragrant  thoughts  communicated  to  us  from 
a  man's  experience.  I  want  none  of  his  pity 
nor  sympathy  in  the  common  sense,  but  that  he 
should  emit  and  communicate  to  me  his  essential 
fragrance,  that  he  should  not  be  forever  repent 
ing  and  going  to  church  (when  not  otherwise 
sinning),  but  as  it  were  going  a-huckleberrying 
in  the  fields  of  thought,  and  enriching  all  the 
world  with  his  visions  and  his  joys. 

Why  flee  so  soon  to  the  theatres,  lecture- 
rooms,  and  museums  of  the  city  ?  If  you  will 
stay  here  awhile,  I  will  promise  you  strange 
sights.  You  shall  walk  on  water.  All  these 
brooks  and  rivers  and  ponds  shall  be  your  high 
way.  You  shall  see  the  whole  earth  covered  a 
foot  or  more  deep  with  purest  white  crystals  in 
which  you  slump  or  over  which  you  glide,  and 
all  the  trees  and  stubble  glittering  in  icy  armor. 


126  AUTUMN. 

Oct.  19,  1840.  My  friend  dwells  in  the  east 
ern  horizon  as  rich  as  an  eastern  city  there. 
There  he  sails  all  lonely  under  the  edge  of  the 
sky  ;  but  thoughts  go  out  silently  from  me,  and 
belay  him,  till  at  length  he  rides  in  my  road 
stead.  But  never  does  he  fairly  come  to  anchor 
in  my  harbor.  Perhaps  I  afford  no  good  an 
chorage.  He  seems  to  move  in  a  burnished 
atmosphere,  while  I  peer  in  upon  him  from  sur 
rounding  spaces  of  Cimmerian  darkness.  His 
house  is  incandescent  to  my  eye,  while  I  have 
no  house,  but  only  a  neighborhood  to  his. 

Oct.  19,  1855.  Talking  with  Bellew  [?]  this 
evening  about  Fourierism  and  communities,  I 
said  that  I  suspected  any  enterprise  in  which 
two  were  engaged  together.  But,  said  he,  it  is 
difficult  to  make  a  stick  stand,  unless  you  slant 
two  or  more  against  it.  Oh,  no,  I  answered, 
you  may  split  its  lower  end  into  three,  or  drive 
it  single  into  the  ground,  which  is  the  best  way, 
but  men,  when  they  start  on  a  new  enterprise, 
not  only  figuratively,  but  really,  pull  up  stakes. 
When  the  sticks  prop  one  another,  none,  or  only 
one,  stands  erect. 

Oct.  19,  1856.  P.  M.  Conantum.  Now  and 
for  some  weeks  is  the  time  for  flocks  of  spar 
rows  of  various  kinds  flitting  from  bush  to  bush 
and  tree  to  tree  (and  both  bushes  and  trees 
are  thinly  leaved  or  bare),  and  from  one  seared 


AUTUMN.  127 

meadow  to  another.  They  are  mingled  together 
and  their  notes  even,  being  faint,  are,  as  well 
as  their  colors  and  motions,  much  alike.  The 
sparrow  youth  are  on  the  wing.  They  are  still 
further  concealed  by  their  resemblance  in  color 
to  the  gray  twigs  and  stems  which  are  now  be 
ginning  to  be  bare. 

I  have  often  noticed  the  inquisitiveness  of 
birds,  as  the  other  day  of  a  sparrow,  whose 
motions  I  should  not  have  supposed  had  any 
reference  to  me,  if  I  had  not  watched  it  from 
first  to  last.  I  stood  on  the  edge  of  a  pine  and 
birch  wood.  It  flitted  from  seven  or  eight  rods 
distant  to  a  pine  within  a  rod  of  me,  where  it 
hopped  about  stealthily  and  chirped  awhile,  then 
flew  as  many  rods  the  other  side,  and  hopped 
about  there  awhile,  then  back  to  the  pine  again, 
as  near  to  me  as  it  dared,  and  again  to  its  first 
position,  very  restless  all  the  while.  Generally 
I  should  have  supposed  that  there  was  more  than 
one  bird,  or  that  it  was  altogether  accidental, 
that  the  chipping  of  this  sparrow  had  no  refer 
ence  to  me,  for  I  could  see  nothing  peculiar 
about  it.  But  when  I  brought  my  glass  to  bear 
on  it,  I  found  that  it  was  almost  steadily  eyeing 
me,  and  was  all  alive  with  excitement. 

Oct.  19,  1858.  A  remarkably  warm  day. 
74°  +  at  1  P.  M.  Ride  to  Sam  Barrett's  mill. 
Am  pleased  again  to  see  the  cobweb  drapery  of 


128  AUTUMN. 

the  mill.  Each  fine  line,  hanging  in  festoons 
from  the  timbers  overhead,  and  on  the  sides,  and 
on  the  discarded  machinery  lying  about,  is  cov 
ered  and  greatly  enlarged  by  a  coating  of  meal, 
like  the  twigs  under  thin  ridges  of  snow  in 
winter.  It  is  like  the  tassels  and  dimity  in  a 
lady's  bed-chamber,  and  I  pray  that  the  cobwebs 
may  not  have  been  brushed  away  from  the  mill 
which  I  visit.  It  is  as  if  I  were  aboard  a  man- 
of-war,  and  this  were  the  fine  rigging,  the  sails 
being  taken  in.  All  things  in  the  mill  wear 
this  drapery,  down  to  the  miller's  hat  and  coat. 
Barrett's  apprentice,  it  seems,  makes  trays  of 
black  birch  and  of  red  maple  in  a  dark  room 
under  the  mill.  I  was  pleased  to  see  the  work 
done  here,  a  wooden  tray  is  so  handsome.  You 
could  count  the  circles  of  growth  on  the  end 
of  the  tray,  and  the  dark  heart  of  the  tree  was 
seen  at  each  end  above,  producing  a  semicircular 
ornament.  It  was  a  satisfaction  to  be  reminded 
that  we  may  so  easily  make  our  own  trenchers 
as  well  as  fill  them.  To  see  the  tree  reappear 
on  the  table  instead  of  going  to  the  fire  or  some 
equally  coarse  use  is  some  compensation  for 
having  it  cut  down.  I  was  the  more  pleased 
with  the  sight  of  these  trays,  because  the  tools 
used  were  so  simple,  as  they  were  made  by  hand, 
not  by  machinery.  They  may  make  equally 
good  pails  with  the  hand-made  ones,  and  cheaper 


AUTUMN.  129 

as  well  as  faster,  at  the  pail  factory,  but  that  in 
terests  me  less  because  the  man  is  turned  partly 
into  a  machine  there  himself.  In  the  other 
case,  the  workman's  relation  to  his  work  is  more 
poetic.  He  also  shows  more  dexterity  and  is 
more  of  a  man.  You  come  away  from  the  great 
factory  saddened,  as  if  the  chief  end  of  man 
were  to  make  pails  ;  but  in  the  case  of  the  coun 
tryman  who  makes  a  few  by  hand  rainy  days, 
the  relative  importance  of  human  life  and  of 
pails  is  preserved,  and  you  come  away  thinking 
of  the  simple  and  helpful  life  of  the  man,  and 
would  fain  go  to  making  pails  yourself.  When 
labor  is  reduced  to  turning  a  crank,  it  is  no 
longer  amusing  nor  truly  profitable.  Let  the 
business  become  very  profitable  in  a  pecuniary 
sense,  and  so  be  "  driven,"  as  the  phrase  is,  and 
carried  on  on  a  large  scale,  and  the  man  is  sunk 
in  it,  while  only  the  pail  or  tray  floats ;  we  are 
interested  in  it  only  in  the  same  way  as  the  pro 
prietor  or  company  is. 

Oct.  20,  1840.  My  friend  is  the  apology  for 
my  life.  In  him  are  the  spaces  which  my  orbit 
traverses. 

There  is  no  quarrel  between  the  good  and  the 
bad,  but  only  between  the  bad  and  the  bad.  In 
the  former  case  there  is  inconsistency  merely,  in 
the  latter  a  vicious  consistency. 

Men  chord  sometimes  as  the  flute  and  the 


130  AUTUMN. 

pumpkin  vine,  a  perfect  chord,  a  harmony,  but 
no  melody.  They  are  .not  of  equal  fineness  of 
tone.  For  the  most  part  I  find  that  in  another 
man  and  myself  the  keynote  is  not  the  same,  so 
that  there  are  no  perfect  chords  in  our  gamuts. 
But  if  we  do  not  chord  by  whole  tones,  never 
theless  his  sharps  are  sometimes  my  flats,  and 
so  we  play  some  very  difficult  pieces  together, 
though  the  sameness  at  last  fatigues  the  ear. 
We  never  rest  on  a  full  natural  note,  but  I 
sacrifice  my  naturalness,  and  he  his.  We  play 
no  tune  through,  only  chromatic  strains,  or  trill 
upon  the  same  note  till  our  ears  ache. 

Oct.  20,  1852.  The  clouds  have  lifted  in  the 
northwest,  and  I  see  the  mountains  in  sunshine 
(all  the  more  attractive  from  the  cold  I  feel 
here),  with  a  tinge  of  purple  on  them,  — a  cold, 
but  memorable  and  glorious  outline.  This  is  an 
advantage  of  mountains  in  the  horizon ;  they 
show  you  fair  weather  from  the  midst  of  foul. 
Many  a  man,  when  I  tell  him  that  I  have  been 
upon  a  mountain,  asks  if  I  took  a  glass  with  me. 
No  doubt  I  could  have  seen  further  with  a  glass, 
and  particular  objects  more  distinctly ;  could 
have  counted  more  meeting-houses;  but  this  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  peculiar  beauty  and 
grandeur  of  the  view  which  an  elevated  position 
affords.  It  was  not  to  see  a  few  particular  ob 
jects  as  if  they  were  near  at  hand,  as  I  had  been 


AUTUMN.  131 

accustomed  to  see  them,  that  I  ascended  the 
mountain,  but  to  see  an  infinite  variety  far  and 
near,  in  their  relation  to  each  other,  thus  re 
duced  to  a  single  picture.  The  facts  of  science 
in  comparison  with  poetry  are  wont  to  be  as 
vulgar  as  looking  from  a  mountain  with  a  tele 
scope.  It  is  a  counting  of  meeting-houses. 

Oct.  20,  1854.  Saw  the  sun  rise  from  the 
mountain  top  [Wachusett].  Soon  after  sunrise 
I  saw  the  pyramidal  shadow  of  the  mountain 
reaching  quite  across  the  State,  its  apex  resting 
on  the  Green  or  Hoosac  mountains,  appearing 
as  a  deep-blue  section  of  a  cone  there.  It  rap 
idly  contracted,  and  its  apex  approached  the 
mountain  itself.  When  about  three  miles  dis 
tant,  the  whole  conical  shadow  was  very  distinct. 
The  shadow  of  the  mountain  makes  some  min 
utes'  difference  in  the  time  of  sunrise  to  the  in 
habitants  of  Hubbardston,  a  few  miles  west. 

Oct.  20,  1855.  I  have  collected  and  split  up 
now  quite  a  pile  of  driftwood,  rails  and  riders 
and  stems  and  stumps  of  trees,  perhaps  one  half 
or  three  fourths  of  a  tree.  It  is  more  amusing 
not  only  to  collect  this  with  my  boat,  and  bring 
it  from  the  river  on  my  back,  but  to  split  it  also, 
than  it  would  be  to  speak  to  a  farmer  for  a  load 
of  wood,  and  to  saw  and  split  that.  Each  stick 
I  deal  with  has  a  history,  and  I  read  it  as  I  am 
handling  it,  and  last  of  all,  I  remember  my  ad- 


132  AUTUMN. 

ventures  in  getting  it,  while  it  is  burning  in  the 
winter  evening.  That  is  the  most  interesting 
part  of  its  history.  When  I  am  splitting  it,  I 
study  the  effects  of  water  on  it,  and,  if  it  is  a 
stump,  the  curiously  winding  grain  by  which  it 
separates  into  so  many  prongs,  how  to  take  ad 
vantage  of  its  grain,  and  split  it  most  easily.  I 
find  that  a  dry  oak  stump  will  split  most  easily 
in  the  direction  of  its  diameter,  not  at  right  an 
gles  with  it,  or  along  its  circles  of  growth.  I 
got  out  some  good  knees  for  a  boat.  Thus  one 
half  the  value  of  my  wood  is  enjoyed  before  it 
is  housed,  and  the  other  half  is  equal  to  the 
whole  value  of  an  equal  quantity  of  the  wood 
which  I  buy. 

Some  of  my  acquaintances  have  been  wonder 
ing  why  I  took  all  this  pains,  bringing  some 
nearly  three  miles  by  water,  and  have  suggested 
various  reasons  for  it.  I  tell  them,  in  my  de 
spair  of  making  them  understand  me,  that  it  is 
a  profound  secret,  which  it  has  proved,  yet  I  did 
hint  that  one  reason  was  that  I  wanted  to  get  it. 
I  take  some  satisfaction  in  eating  my  food,  as 
well  as  in  being  nourished  by  it.  I  feel  well  at 
dinner  time,  as  well  as  after  it.  The  world  will 
never  find  out  why  you  don't  love  to  have  your 
bed  tucked  up  for  you,  why  you  will  be  so  per 
verse.  I  enjoy  more,  drinking  water  at  a  clear 
spring,  than  out  of  a  goblet  at  a  gentleman's 


AUTUMN.  133 

table.  I  like  best  the  bread  which  I  have 
baked,  the  garment  which  I  have  made,  the 
shelter  I  have  constructed,  the  fuel  I  have  gath 
ered.  It  is  always  a  recommendation  to  me  to 
know  that  a  man  has  ever  been  poor,  has  been 
regularly  born  into  this  world,  knows  the  lan 
guage.  I  require  to  be  assured  of  certain  phi 
losophers  that  they  have  once  been  barefooted, 
footsore,  have  eaten  a  crust  because  they  had 
nothing  better,  and  know  what  sweetness  resides 
in  it.  I  have  met  with  some  barren  accom 
plished  gentlemen  who  seemed  to  have  been  at 
school  all  their  lives,  and  never  had  a  vacation 
to  live  in.  Oh,  if  they  could  only  have  been 
stolen  by  the  gypsies,  and  carried  far  beyond 
the  reach  of  their  guardians  !  They  had  better 
have  died  in  their  infancy,  and  been  buried  un 
der  the  leaves,  their  lips  besmeared  with  black 
berries,  and  cock  robin  for  their  sexton. 

Oct.  20,  1856.  I  think  that  all  spiders  can 
walk  on  water,  for  when  last  summer  I  knocked 
one  off  my  boat  by  chance,  he  ran  swiftly  back  to 
the  boat  and. climbed  up,  as  if  more  to  avoid  the 
fishes  than  the  water.  This  would  account  for 
those  long  lines  stretched  low  over  the  water 
from  one  grass-stem  to  another.  I  see  one  of 
them  now,  five  or  six  feet  long,  and  only  three  or 
four  inches  above  the  surface.  It  is  remarkable 
that  there  is  no  perceptible  sag  to  it,  weak  as 
the  line  must  be. 


134  A  UTUMN. 

Oct.  20,  1857.  P.  M.  To  the  Easterbrook 
country.  I  had  gone  but  little  way  on  the  old 
Carlisle  road  when  I  saw  Brooks  Clark,  who  is 
now  about  eighty,  and  bent  like  a  bow,  hasten 
ing  along  the  road,  barefooted  as  usual,  with  an 
axe  in  his  hand,  in  haste  perhaps  on  account  of 
the  cold  wind  on  his  bare  feet.  When  he  got 
up  to  me,  I  saw  that  beside  the  axe  in  one  hand, 
he  had  his  shoes  in  the  other,  filled  with  knurly 
apples  and  a  dead  robin.  He  stopped  and 
talked  with  me  a  few  moments;  said  that  we 
had  had  a  noble  autumn  and  might  now  expect 
some  cold  weather.  I  asked  if  he  had  found 
the  robin  dead.  No,  he  said,  he  found  it  with 
its  wing  broken,  and  killed  it.  He  also  added 
that  he  had  found  some  apples  in  the  woods, 
and  as  he  had  not  anything  to  carry  them  in,  he 
put  them  in  his  shoes.  They  were  queer  looking 
trays  to  carry  fruit  in.  How  many  he  got  in 
along  toward  the  toes,  I  don't  know.  I  noticed, 
too,  that  his  pockets  were  stuffed  with  them. 
His  old  frock  coat  was  hanging  in  strips  about 
the  skirts,  as  were  his  pantaloons  about  his 
naked  feet.  He  appeared  to  have  been  out  on  a 
scout  this  gusty  afternoon  to  see  what  he  could 
find,  as  the  youngest  boy  might.  It  pleased  me 
to  see  this  cheery  old  man,  with  such  a  feeble 
hold  on  life,  bent  almost  double,  thus  enjoying 
the  evening  of  his  days.  Far  be  it  from  me 


AUTUMN.  135 

to  call  it  avarice  or  penury,  this  childlike  de 
light  in  finding  something  in  the  woods  or  fields, 
and  carrying  it  home  in  the  October  evening,  as 
a  trophy  to  be  added  to  his  winter's  stores.  Oh, 
no,  he  was  happy  to  be  nature's  pensioner  still, 
and  bird-like  to  pick  up  his  living.  Better  his 
robin  than  your  turkey,  his  shoes  full  of  apples 
than  your  barrels  full.  They  will  be  sweeter, 
and  suggest  a  better  tale.  He  can  afford  to  tell 
how  he  got  them,  and  I  to  listen.  There  is  an 
old  wife,  too,  at  home,  to  share  them,  and  hear 
how  they  were  obtained ;  like  an  old  squirrel 
shuffling  to  his  hole  with  a  nut.  Far  less 
pleasing  to  me  the  loaded  wain,  more  suggestive 
of  avarice  and  of  spiritual  penury.  This  old 
man's  cheeriness  was  worth  a  thousand  of  the 
church's  sacraments  and  memento  moris.  It 
was  better  than  a  prayerful  mood.  It  proves 
to  me  old  age  as  tolerable,  as  happy,  as  infancy. 
I  was  glad  of  an  occasion  to  suspect  that  this 
afternoon  he  had  not  been  at  work,  but  living 
somewhat  after  my  own  fashion  (though  he  did 
not  explain  the  axe),  and  been  out  to  see  what 
nature  had  for  him,  and  was  now  hastening 
home  to  a  burrow  he  knew  of,  where  he  could 
warm  his  old  feet.  If  he  had  been  a  young 
man  he  would  probably  have  thrown  away  his 
apples,  and  put  on  his  shoes  for  shame  when  he 
saw  me  coming,  but  old  age  is  manlier.  It  has 


136  AUTUMN. 

learned  to  live,  makes  fewer  apologies,  like  in 
fancy.  This  seems  a  very  manly  man.  I  have 
known  him  within  a  few  years  building  stone 
wall  by  himself,  barefooted. 

What  a  wild  and  rich  domain  that  Easter- 
brook  country  !  Not  a  cultivated,  hardly  a  cul 
tivable  field  in  it,  and  yet  it  delights  all  natural 
persons,  and  feeds  more  still.  Such  great  rocky 
and  moist  tracts,  which  daunt  the  farmer,  are 
reckoned  as  unimproved  land,  and  therefore 
worth  but  little ;  but  think  of  the  miles  of  huc 
kleberries,  and  of  barberries,  and  of  wild  apples, 
so  fair  both  in  flower  and  fruit,  resorted  to  by 
men  and  beasts,  Clark,  Brown,  Melvin,  and  the 
robins.  There  are  barberry  bushes  or  clumps 
there,  behind  which  I  could  actually  pick  two 
bushels  of  berries  without  being  seen  by  you  on 
the  other  side.  They  are  not  a  quarter  picked 
at  last  by  all  creatures  together.  I  walk  for 
two  or  three  miles,  and  still  the  clumps  of  bar 
berries,  great  sheaves  with  their  wreaths  of 
scarlet  fruit,  show  themselves  before  me  and  on 
every  side. 

Oct.  21,  1852.  To  Second  Division  Brook 
and  Ministerial  Swamp.  I  find  caddis -cases 
with  worms  in  Second  Division  Brook;  and 
what  mean  those  little  piles  of  yellow  sand  on 
dark-colored  stones  at  the  bottom  of  the  swift- 
running  water,  kept  together  and  in  place  by 


AUTUMN.  137 

some  kind  of  gluten,  and  looking  as  if  sprin 
kled  on  the  stones,  one  eighteenth  of  an  inch 
in  diameter?  These  caddis-worms  build  a  little 
case  around  themselves,  and  sometimes  attach  a 
few  dead  leaves  to  disguise  it,  and  then  fasten 
it  slightly  to  some  swaying  grass-stem  or  blade 
at  the  bottom  in  swift  water,  and  these  are  their 
quarters  till  next  spring.  This  reminds  me  that 
winter  does  not  put  his  rude  fingers  in  the  bot 
tom  of  the  brooks.  When  you  look  into  them, 
you  see  various  dead  leaves  floating  or  resting 
on  the  bottom,  and  you  do  not  suspect  that  some 
are  the  disguises  which  the  caddis-worms  have 
borrowed. 

Oct.  21,  1857.  I  see  many  myrtle  birds  now 
about  the  house,  this  forenoon,  on  the  advent  of 
cooler  weather.  They  keep  flying  up  against 
the  house  and  the  window,  and  fluttering  there 
as  if  they  would  come  in,  or  alight  on  the  wood 
pile  or  the  pump.  They  would  commonly  be 
mistaken  for  sparrows,  but  show  more  white 
when  they  fly,  beside  the  yellow  on  the  rump 
and  sides  of  breast,  seen  near  to,  and  two  white 
bars  on  the  wings  ;  chubby  birds. 

p.  M.  Up  Assabet.  Cool  and  windy.  Those 
who  have  put  it  off  thus  long  make  haste  now 
to  collect  what  apples  were  left  out,  and  dig 
their  potatoes  before  the  ground  shall  freeze 
hard.  Now  again  as  in  the  spring  we  begin  to 


138  AUTUMN. 

look  for  sheltered  and  sunny  places  where  we 
may  sit.  I  cannot  go  by  a  large  dead  swamp 
white-oak  log  this  cool  evening,  but  with  no 
little  exertion  get  it  aboard,  and  some  blackened 
swamp  white-oak  stumps  whose  earthy  parts  are 
all  gone.  As  I  am  paddling  home  swiftly  be 
fore  the  northwest  wind,  absorbed  in  my  wooding, 
I  see,  this  cool  and  grayish  evening,  that  peculiar 
yellow  light  in  the  east,  from  the  sun  a  little 
before  setting.  It  has  just  come  out  beneath  a 
great  cold  slate-colored  cloud  that  occupies  most 
of  the  western  sky,  as  smaller  ones  the  eastern, 
and  now  its  rays,  slanting  over  the  hill  in  whose 
shadow  I  float,  fall  on  the  eastern  trees  and  hills 
with  a  thin  yellow  light  like  a  clear  yellow  wine  ; 
but  somehow  it  reminds  me  that  now  the  hearth- 
side-  is  getting  to  be  a  more  comfortable  place 
than  out-of-doors.  Before  I  get  home  the  sun 
has  set,  and  a  cold  white  light  in  the  west  suc 
ceeded. 

Is  not  the  poet  bound  to  write  his  own  biog 
raphy?  Is  there  any  other  work  for  him  but 
a  good  journal  ?  We  do  not  wish  to  know  how 
his  imaginary  hero,  but  how  he  the  actual  hero, 
lived  from  day  to  day. 

That  big  swamp  white-oak  limb  or  tree  which 
I  found  prostrate  in  the  swamp  was  longer  than 
my  boat,  and  tipped  it  considerably.  One  whole 
side,  the  upper,  was  covered  with  green  hypnum, 


AUTUMN.  139 

and  the  other  was  partly  white  with  fungi. 
That  green  coat  adhered  when  I  split  it.  Im 
mortal  wood !  that  had  begun  to  live  again. 
Others  burn  unfortunate  trees  that  lose  their 
lives  prematurely.  These  old  stumps  stand  like 
anchorites  or  yogees,  putting  off  their  earthly 
garments,  more  and  more  sublimed  from  year 
to  year,  ready  to  be  translated,  and  then  they 
are  ripe  for  my  fire.  I  administer  the  last  sac 
rament  and  purification.  I  find  old  pitch-pine 
sticks  which  have  lain  in  the  mud  at  the  bottom 
of  the  river,  nobody  knows  how  long,  and  weigh 
them  up,  almost  as  heavy  as  lead,  float  them 
home,  saw  and  split  them.  Their  pitch,  still  fat 
and  yellow,  has  saved  them  for  me,  and  they 
burn  like  candles.  I  become  a  connoisseur  in 
wood  at  last,  take  only  the  best. 

Oct.  22,  1853.  Yesterday  toward  night,  gave 
Sophia  and  mother  a  sail  as  far  as  the  Battle 
ground.  One-eyed  John  Goodwin,  the  fisher 
man,  was  loading  into  a  handcart  and  conveying 
home  the  piles  of  driftwood  which  of  late  he 
had  collected  with  his  boat.  It  was  a  beautiful 
evening,  and  a  clear  amber  sunset  lit  up  all 
the  eastern  shores,  and  that  man's  employment, 
so  simple  and  direct  (though  he  is  regarded  by 
most  as  a  vicious  character),  whose  whole  motive 
was  so  easy  to  fathom,  thus  to  obtain  his  win 
ter's  wood,  charmed  me  unspeakably.  So  much 


140  AUTUMN. 

do  we  love  actions  that  are  simple.  They  are 
all  poetic.  We,  too,  would  fain  be  so  employed, 
in  a  way  so  unlike  the  artificial  and  complicated 
pursuits  of  most  men.  Consider  how  the  broker 
collects  his  winter's  wood,  what  sport  he  makes 
of  it,  what  is  his  boat  and  handcart.  Postpon 
ing  instant  life,  he  makes  haste  to  Boston  in  the 
cars,  and  there  deals  in  stocks,  not  quite  relish 
ing  his  employment,  and  so  earns  the  money 
with  which  he  buys  his  fuel.  When  by  chance 
I  meet  him  about  this  indirect  complicated  busi 
ness,  I  am  not  struck  with  the  beauty  of  his 
employment.  It  does  not  harmonize  with  the 
amber  sunset.  How  much  more  the  former 
consults  his  genius,  —  some  genius,  at  any  rate. 
Now  I  should  love  to  get  my  fuel  so,  have  got 
some  of  it  so.  But,  though  I  am  glad  to  have 
it,  I  do  not  love  to  get  it  in  any  other  way  less 
simple  and  direct.  If  I  buy  one  necessary  of 
life,  I  cheat  myself  to  some  extent.  I  deprive 
myself  of  the  pleasure,  the  inexpressible  joy 
which  is  the  unfailing  reward  of  satisfying  any 
want  of  my  nature  simply  and  truly.  No  trade 
is  simple,  but  artificial  and  complex.  It  goes 
against  the  grain,  it  postpones  life.  If  the  first 
generation  does  not  die  of  it,  the  third  or  fourth 
does.  In  face  of  all  statistics,  I  will  never 
believe  that  it  is  the  descendants  of  tradesmen 
who  keep  the  state  alive,  but  of  simple  yeomen 


AUTUMN.  141 

or  laborers.  This  indeed  statistics  say  of  the 
city  reinforced  by  the  country.  This  simplicity 
it  is  and  the  vigor  it  imparts,  that  enables  the 
vagabond,  though  he  does  get  drunk  and  is 
sent  to  the  house  of  correction  so  often,  to  hold 
up  his  head  among  men.  "  If  I  go  to  Boston 
every  day  and  sell  tape  from  morning  till  night," 
says  the  merchant  (which  we  will  admit  is  not 
a  beautiful  action),  "  some  time  or  other  I  shall 
be  able  to  buy  the  best  of  fuel  without  stint." 
Yes,  but  not  the  pleasure  of  picking  it  up  by 
the  river-side,  which,  I  may  say,  is  of  even  more 
value  than  the  warmth  it  yields.  It  is  to  give 
no  account  of  my  employment  to  say  that  I  cut 
wood  to  keep  me  from  freezing,  or  cultivate 
beans  to  keep  me  from  starving.  Oh,  no,  the 
greatest  value  of  these  labors  is  received  before 
the  wood  is  teamed  home,  or  the  beans  are  har 
vested.  Goodwin  stands  on  the  solid  earth. 
For  such  as  he,  no  political  economies,  with 
their  profit  and  loss,  supply  and  demand,  need 
ever  be  written,  for  they  will  need  to  use  no 
policy.  As  for  the  complex  ways  of  living,  I 
love  them  not,  however  much  I  practice  them. 
In  as  many  places  as  possible,  I  will  get  my  feet 
down  to  the  earth.  There  is  no  secret  in  Good 
win's  trade  more  than  in  the  sun's.  He  is  a 
most  constant  fisherman.  He  must  well  know 
the  taste  of  pickerel  by  this  time.  When  I  can 


142  AUTUMN. 

remember  to  have  seen  him  fishing  almost  daily 
for  some  time,  if  it  rains,  I  am  surprised  on 
looking  out  to  see  him  slowly  wending  his  way 
to  the  river  in  his  oilcloth  coat,  with  his  basket 
and  pole.  I  saw  him  the  other  day  fishing  in 
the  middle  of  the  stream,  the  day  after  I  had 
seen  him  fishing  on  the  shore,  while  by  a  kind 
of  magic  I  sailed  by  him.  He  said  he  was  catch 
ing  minnows  for  bait  in  the  winter.  When  I 
was  twenty  rods  off,  he  held  up  a  pickerel  that 
weighed  two  and  a  half  pounds,  which  he  had 
forgotten  to  show  me  before,  and  the  next  morn 
ing,  as  he  afterwards  told  me,  he  caught  one 
that  weighed  three  pounds.  If  it  is  ever  neces 
sary  to  appoint  a  committee  on  fish  ponds  and 
pickerel,  let  him  be  one  of  them. 

Oct.  22,  1857.  P.  M.  To  and  round  Flint's 
Pond.  Crossing  my  old  beanfield,  I  see  the 
blue  pond  between  the  green  pines  in  the  field, 
and  am  reminded  that  we  are  almost  reduced  to 
the  russet  (i.  e.,  pale  brown  grass  tinged  with 
red  blackberry  vines)  of  such  fields  as  this,  the 
blue  of  water,  the  green  of  pines,  and  the  dull 
reddish-brown  of  oak  leaves.  This  sight  of  the 
blue  water  between  the  now  perfectly  green 
pines,  seen  over  the  light-brown  pasture,  is  pecu 
liarly  Novemberish,  though  it  may  be  like  this 
in  early  spring. 

Look  from  the  high  hill  just  before  sundown, 


AUTUMN.  143 

over  the  pond.  The  mountains  are  a  mere  cold 
slate  color.  But  what  a  perfect  crescent  of  moun 
tains  we  have  in  our  northwest  horizon.  Do  we 
ever  give  thanks  for  it  ?  Even  as  pines  and 
larches  and  hemlocks  grow  in  communities  in 
the  wilderness,  so  it  seems  do  mountains  love 
society.  Though  there  may  be  two  or  more 
ranges,  one  behind  the  other,  and  ten  or  twelve 
miles  between  them,  yet,  if  the  farthest  are  the 
highest,  they  are  all  seen  as  one  group  at  this 
distance.  I  look  up  northwest  to  my  mountains, 
as  a  farmer  to  his  hill-lot  or  rocky  pasture  from 
his  door.  I  drive  no  cattle  to  the  Ipswich  hills. 
I  own  no  pasture  for  them  there.  My  eyes  it  is 
alone  that  wander  to  those  blue  pastures  which 
no  drought  affects.  I  am  content  to  dwell  here 
and  see  the  sun  go  down  behind  my  mountain 
fence. 

Oct.  23,  1852.  The  milk  weed  (Syriaca) 
now  rapidly  discounting.  The  lanceolate  pods 
having  opened,  the  seeds  spring  out  on  the  least 
jar,  or  when  dried  by  the  sun,  and  form  a  little 
fluctuating  white  silky  mass  or  tuft,  each  held 
by  a  fine  thread  until  a  stronger  puff  of  wind 
sets  them  free.  It  is  pleasant  to  see  the  plant 
thus  dispersing  its  seeds. 

October  has  been  the  month  of  autumnal  tints. 
The  first  of  the  month,  the  tints  began  to  be 
more  general,  at  which  time  the  frosts  began. 


144  AUTUMN. 

There  were  scattered  bright  tints  long  before,  but 
not  till  then  did  the  forest  begin  to  be  painted. 
By  the  end  of  the  month,  the  leaves  will  either 
have  fallen,  or  be  seared  and  turned  brown  by 
the  frosts,  for  the  most  part. 

My  friend  is  one  who  takes  me  for  what  I  am. 
A  stranger  takes  me  for  something  else  than 
what  I  am.  We  do  not  speak,  we  cannot  com 
municate,  till  we  find  that  we  are  recognized. 
The  stranger  supposes  in  our  stead  a  third  per 
son  whom  we  do  not  know,  and  we  leave  him  to 
converse  with  that  one.  It  is  suicide  for  us  to 
become  abettors  in  misapprehending  ourselves. 
Suspicion  creates  the  stranger.  I  cannot  abet 
any  man  in  misapprehending  myself. 

What  men  call  social  virtues,  good  fellowship, 
is  commonly  but  the  virtue  of  pigs  in  a  litter 
which  lie  close  together  to  keep  each  other  warm. 
It  brings  men  together  in  crowds  and  mobs  in 
bar-rooms  and  elsewhere,  but  it  does  not  deserve 
the  name  of  virtue. 

Oct.  23,  1853.  Many  phenomena  remind  me 
that  now  is  to  some  extent  a  second  spring,  not 
only  the  new  springing  and  blossoming  of  flow 
ers,  but  the  peeping  of  the  hylodes  for  some 
time,  and  the  faint  warbling  of  their  spring 
notes,  by  many  birds. 

Oct.  23, 1855.  Now  is  the  time  for  chestnuts. 
A  stone  cast  against  the  trees  shakes  them  down 


AUTUMN.  145 

in  showers  upon  one's  head  and  shoulders.  But 
I  cannot  excuse  myself  for  using  the  stone.  It 
is  not  innocent,  it  is  not  just  so  to  maltreat  the 
tree  that  feeds  us.  I  am  not  disturbed  by  con 
sidering  that  if  I  thus  shorten  its  life,  I  shall 
not  enjoy  its  fruit  so  long,  but  am  prompted  to 
a  more  innocent  course  by  motives  purely  of 
humanity.  I  sympathize  with  the  tree,  yet  I 
heaved  a  big  stone  against  the  trunk,  like  a 
robber,  not  too  good  to  commit  murder.  I  trust 
I  shall  never  do  it  again.  These  gifts  should  be 
accepted  not  merely  with  gentleness,  but  with  a 
certain  humble  gratitude.  It  is  not  a  time  of  dis 
tress  when  a  little  haste  and  violence  even  might 
be  pardoned.  It  is  worse  than  boorish,  it  is  crim 
inal,  to  inflict  an  unnecessary  injury  on  the  tree 
that  feeds  or  shades  us.  If  you  would  learn  the 
secrets  of  nature,  you  must  practice  more  human 
ity  than  others.  The  thought  that  I  was  robbing 
myself  by  injuring  the  tree  did  not  occur  to  me, 
but  I  was  affected  as  if  I  had  cast  a  rock  at  a 
sentient  being,  with  a  duller  sense  than  my  own, 
it  is  true,  but  yet  a  distant  relative.  Behold  a 
man  cutting  down  a  tree  to  come  at  the  fruit ! 
What  is  the  moral  of  such  an  act  ?  Shall  we 
begin,  old  men  in  crime ;  would  that  we  might 
grow  innocent,  at  last,  as  the  children  of  light. 

Oct.  24,  1837.     Every  part  of  nature  teaches 
that  the  passing  away  of  one  life  is  the  making 


146  AUTUMN. 

room  for  another.  The  oak  dies  down  to  the 
ground,  leaving  within  its  rind  a  rich  virgin  mould 
which  will  impart  a  vigorous  life  to  an  infant 
forest.  The  pine  leaves  a  sandy  and  sterile  soil, 
the  harder  woods,  a  strong  and  fruitful  mould. 
So  this  constant  abrasion  and  decay  of  our  lives 
makes  the  soil  of  our  future  growth.  The  wood 
we  now  mature,  when  it  becomes  mould,  deter 
mines  the  character  of  our  second  growth.  If  I 
grow  pines  and  birches,  my  mould  will  not  sus 
tain  oak,  but  pines  and  birches,  or,  perchance, 
weeds  and  brambles. 

Oct.  24,  1857.  P.  M.  To  Smith's  chestnut 
grove.  I  get  a  couple  of  quarts  of  chestnuts. 
I  find  my  account  in  this  long-continued  mo 
notonous  labor  of  picking  chestnuts  all  the 
afternoon,  brushing  the  leaves  aside  without 
looking  up,  absorbed  in  that,  and  forgetting 
better  things  awhile.  My  eye  is  educated  to 
discover  anything  on  the  ground.  It  is  proba 
bly  wholesomer  to  look  at  the  ground  much, 
than  at  the  heavens.  This  occupation  affords  a 
certain  broad  pause,  and  opportunity  to  start 
again  afterwards,  turn  over  a  new  leaf. 

Oct.  24,  1858.  A  northeast  storm,  though 
not  much  rain  falls  to-day,  but  a  fine  driving 
mizzle.  This,  as  usual,  brings  the  geese,  and 
at  2.30  P.  M.  I  see  two  flocks  go  over,  faintly 
honking.  A  great  many  must  go  over  to-day, 


AUTUMN.  147 

and  also  alight  in  this  neighborhood.  This 
weather  warns  them  of  the  approach  of  winter, 
and  this  wind  speeds  them  on  their  way. 

The  brilliant  autumnal  colors  are  red  and 
yellow,  and  the  various  tints  and  shades  of  these. 
Blue  is  reserved  to  be  the  color  of  the  sky,  but 
yellow  and  red  are  the  colors  of  the  earth-flower. 
Every  fruit  on  ripening,  and  just  before  its  fall, 
acquires  a  bright  tint.  So  do  the  leaves  ;  so  the 
sky  before  the  end  of  the  day,  and  the  year  near 
its  setting.  October  is  the  red  sunset  sky,  No 
vember  the  later  twilight.  Color  stands  for  all 
ripeness  and  success.  The  noblest  feature,  the 
eye,  is  the  fairest-colored,  the  jewel  of  the  body. 

Oct.  25,  1852.  P.  M.  Down  river  to  Ball's 
Hill  in  boat.  Another  perfect  Indian-summer 
day.  One  of  my  oars  makes  a  creaking  sound 
like  a  block  in  a  harbor,  such  a  sound  as  would 
bring  tears  into  an  old  sailor's  eyes.  It  sug 
gests  to  me  adventure  and  seeking  one's  fortune. 
The  water  for  some  time  has  been  clear  of 
weeds  mostly,  and  looks  cool  for  fishes.  We  get 
into  the  lee  of  the  hill  near  Abner  Buttrick's  (?) 
where  is  smooth  water,  and  here  it  is  very  warm 
and  sunny  under  the  pitch  pines.  Some  small 
husky  white  asters  still  survive.  The  autumnal 
tints  grow  gradually  darker  and  duller,  but  not 
less  rich  to  my  eye.  And  now  a  hillside  near 
the  river  exhibits  the  darkest  crispy  reds  and 


148  AUTUMN. 

browns  of  every  hue,  all  agreeably  blended. 
At  the  foot,  next  the  meadow,  stands  a  front 
rank  of  smoke-like  maples,  bare  of  leaves,  inter 
mixed  with  yellow  birches.  Higher  up  are  red 
oaks,  of  various  shades  of  dull  red,  with  yellow 
ish,  perhaps  black  oaks,  intermixed,  and  walnuts 
now  brown,  and  near  the  hill-top  or  rising  above 
the  rest,  a  still  yellow  oak,  and  here  and  there 
amid  the  rest  or  in  the  foreground  on  the 
meadow,  dull,  ashy,  salmon-colored  white  oaks, 
large  and  small,  all  these  contrasting  with  the 
clear,  liquid,  sempiternal  green  of  pines.  The 
sheen  on  the  water  blinds  my  eyes.  Mint  is 
still  green  and  wonderfully  recreating  to  smell. 
I  had  put  such  things  behind  me.  It  is  hard  to 
remember  lilies  now. 

The  constitution  of  the  Indian  mind  appears 
to  be  the  very  opposite  of  the  white  man's.  He 
is  acquainted  with  a  different  side  of  nature. 
He  measures  his  life  by  winters,  not  summers. 
His  year  is  not  measured  by  the  sun,  but  con 
sists  of  a  certain  number  of  moons,  and  his 
moons  are  measured  not  by  days,  but  by  nights. 
He  has  taken  hold  of  the  dark  side  of  nature, 
the  white  man  of  the  bright  side. 

Oct.  25, 1857.  I  am  amused  to  see  that  Varro 
tells  us  the  Latin  e  represents  the  vowel  sound 
in  the  bleat  of  a  sheep  (Bee)  ;  if  he  had  re 
ferred  instead  to  some  word  pronounced  by  the 


AUTUMN.  149 

Romans,  we  should  not  be  the  wiser,  but  we  do 
not  doubt  that  sheep  bleat  to-day  as  they  did 
then. 

Oct.  25,  1860.  The  thistles  which  I  now 
see  have  their  heads  recurved,  which  at  least 
saves  their  down  somewhat  from  moisture. 
When  I  pull  out  the  down,  the  seed  is,  for 
the  most  part,  left  in  the  receptacle  (?)  in  reg 
ular  order  there,  like  the  pricks  in  a  thimble  ;  a 
slightly  convex  surface,  the  seeds  set  like  car 
tridges  in  a  circular  cartridge  box,  in  hollow 
cylinders,  which  look  like  circles  crowded  into 
more  or  less  of  a  diamond,  pentagonal,  or  hex 
agonal  form.  The  perfectly  dry  and  bristly  in 
volucre  which  hedges  them  round,  so  repulsive 
externally,  is  very  neat  and  attractive  within,  as 
smooth  and  tender  toward  its  charge  as  it  is 
rough  and  prickly  externally  toward  the  foes 
that  might  do  it  injury.  It  is  a  hedge  of  im 
bricated,  thin,  and  narrow  leaflets,  of  a  light 
brown  color,  beautifully  glossy  like  silk,  a  most 
fit  receptacle  for  the  delicate,  downy  parachutes 
of  the  seed.  The  little  seeds  are  kept  dry  under 
this  unsuspected  silky  or  satiny  ceiling,  whose 
old,  weather-worn,  and  rough  outside  alone  we 
see,  like  a  mossy  roof.  I  know  of  no  object 
more  unsightly  to  a  careless  glance  than  an 
empty  thistle  -  head,  yet  if  you  examine  it 
closely,  it  may  remind  you  of  the  silk -lined 


150  AUTUMN. 

cradle  in  which  a  prince  was  rocked.  That 
which  seemed  a  mere  brown  and  wOrn-out  relic 
of  the  summer,  sinking  into  the  earth  by  the 
roadside,  turns  out  to  be  a  precious  casket. 

Oct.  26,  1851.  I  awoke  this  morning  to  in 
finite  regret.  In  my  dream  I  had  been  riding, 
but  the  horses  bit  each  other,  and  occasioned 
endless  trouble  and  anxiety,  and  it  was  my  em 
ployment  to  hold  their  heads  apart.  Next  I 
sailed  over  the  sea  in  a  small  vessel  such  as  the 
Northmen  used,  as  it  were,  to  the  Bay  of  Fundy, 
and  thence  overland  I  sailed  still,  over  the  shal 
lows  about  the  sources  of  rivers  toward  the 
deeper  channel  of  a  stream  which  emptied  into 
the  gulf  beyond.  Again  I  was  in  my  own  small 
pleasure  boat,  learning  to  sail  on  the  sea,  and  I 
raised  my  sail  before  my  anchor,  which  I  dragged 
far  into  the  sea.  I  saw  the  buttons  which  had 
come  off  the  coats  of  drowned  men,  and  suddenly 
I  saw  my  dog,  when  I  knew  not  that  I  had  one, 
standing  in  the  sea  up  to  his  chin  to  warm  his 
legs,  which  had  been  wet,  and  which  the  cool 
wind  had  numbed.  Then  I  was  walking  in  a 
meadow  where  the  dry  season  permitted  me  to 
walk  further  than  usual.  Then  I  met  Mr.  Al- 
cott  and  we  fell  to  quoting  and  referring  to 
grand  and  pleasing  couplets  and  single  lines 
which  we  had  read  in  time  past,  and  I  quoted 
one  which  in  my  waking  hours  I  have  no  know- 


AUTUMN.  151 

ledge  of,  but  in  my  dream  it  was  familiar  enough. 
I  only  know  that  those  I  quoted  expressed  re 
gret,  and  were  like  the  following,  though  they 
were  not  these,  viz. :  — 

"  The  short  parenthesis  of  life  was  sweet," 
"  The  remembrance  of  youth  is  a  sigh,"  etc. 

Then  again  the  instant  I  awoke,  methought  I 
was  a  musical  instrument  from  which  I  heard  a 
strain  die  out,  —  a  bugle,  a  clarionet,  or  a  flute. 
My  body  was  the  organ  and  channel  of  melody, 
as  a  flute  is  of  the  music  that  is  breathed 
through  it.  My  flesh  sounded  and  vibrated  still 
to  the  strain,  and  my  nerves  were  the  chords 
of  the  lyre.  I  awoke,  therefore,  to  an  infinite 
regret,  to  find  myself  not  the  thoroughfare  of 
glorious  and  world-stirring  inspirations,  but  a 
scuttle  full  of  dirt,  such  a  thoroughfare  only  as 
the  street  and  the  kennel,  where  perchance  the 
wind  may  sometimes  draw  forth  a  strain  of 
music  from  a  straw. 

I  can  partly  account  for  this.  Last  evening 
I  was  reading  Laing's  account  of  the  Northmen, 
and  though  I  did  not  write  in  my  journal,  I  re 
member  feeling  a  fertile  regret,  and  deriving 
even  an  inexpressible  satisfaction  as  it  were  from 
my  ability  to  feel  regret,  which  made  that  even 
ing  richer  than  those  which  had  preceded  it. 
I  heard  the  last  strain  or  flourish,  as  I  woke, 
played  on  my  body  as  the  instrument.  Such  I 


152  AUTUMN. 

knew  I  had  been  and  might  be  again,  and  my 
regret  arose  from  the  consciousness  how  little 
like  a  musical  instrument  my  body  was  now. 

Oct.  26,  1852.  Walden  and  Cliffs,  p.  M.  It 
is  cool  to-day  and  windier.  The  water  is  rippled 
considerably.  As  I  stand  in  the  boat,  the  far 
ther  off  the  water,  the  bluer  it  is.  Looking 
straight  down,  it  is  a  dark  green.  Hence  ap 
parently  the  celestial  blueness  of  those  distant 
river  reaches,  when  the  water  is  agitated  so  that 
the  surfaces  of  the  waves  reflect  the  sky  at  the 
right  angle.  It  is  a  darker  blue  than  that  of 
the  sky  itself.  When  I  look  down  on  the  pond 
from  the  peak,  it  is  far  less  blue. 

The  blue-stemmed  and  white  golden-rod  ap 
parently  survive  till  winter,  push  up  and  blos 
som  anew. 

At  this  season  we  seek  warm,  sunny  lees  and 
hillsides,  as  that  under  the  pitch  pines  by  Wal 
den  shore,  where  we  cuddle  and  warm  ourselves 
in  the  sun,  as  by  a  fire,  where  we  may  get  some 
of  its  reflected  as  well  as  direct  heat. 

Coming  by  Haden's  I  see  that,  the  sun  setting, 
its  rays,  which  yet  find  some  vapor  to  lodge  on 
in  the  clear  cold  air,  impart  a  purple  tinge  to 
the  mountains  in  the  northwest.  I  think  it  is 
only  in  cold  weather  that  I  see  this. 

Oct.  26,  1853.  I  well  remember  the  time 
this  year  when  I  first  heard  the  dreaming  of  the 


AUTUMN.  153 

toads.  I  was  laying  out  house  lots  on  Little 
River  in  Haverhill.  We  had  had  some  raw, 
cold,  and  wet  weather,  but  this  day  was  remark 
ably  warm  and  pleasant,  and  I  had  thrown  off 
my  overcoat.  I  was  going  home  to  dinner  past 
a  shallow  pool,  green  with  springing  grass,  when 
it  occurred  to  me  that  I  heard  the  dreaming  of 
the  toad.  It  rung  through  and  filled  all  the 
air,  though  I  had  not  heard  it  once,  before.  I 
turned  my  companion's  attention  to  it,  but  he 
did  not  appear  to  perceive  it  as  a  new  sound  in 
the  air.  Loud  and  prevailing  as  it  is,  most  men 
do  not  notice  it  at  all.  It  is  to  them  perchance 
a  sort  of  simmering  or  seething  of  all  nature. 
It  affects  their  thoughts,  though  they  are  not 
conscious  of  hearing  it.  How  watchful  we  must 
be  to  keep  the  crystal  well  that  we  are  made, 
clear.  Often  we  are  so  jarred  by  chagrins  in 
dealing  with  the  world  that  we  cannot  reflect. 

Everything  beautiful  impresses  us  as  suffi 
cient  to  itself.  Many  men  who  have  had  much 
intercourse  with  the  world,  and  not  borne  the 
trial  well,  affect  me  as  all  resistance,  all  burr 
and  rind,  without  any  gentle  man  or  tender  and 
innocent  core  left. 

It  is  surprising  how  any  reminiscence  of  a 
different  season  of  the  year  affects  us.  When  I 
meet  with  any  such  in  my  journal,  it  affects  me 
as  poetry,  and  I  appreciate  that  other  season 


154  AUTUMN. 

and  that  particular  phenomenon  more  than  at 
the  time.  The  world  so  seen  is  all  one  spring, 
and  full  of  beauty.  You  only  need  to  make  a 
faithful  record  of  an  average  summer  day's  ex 
perience  and  summer  mood,  and  read  it  in  the 
winter,  and  it  will  carry  you  back  to  more  than 
that  summer  day  alone  could  show.  Only  the 
rarest  flower,  the  purest  melody  of  the  season, 
thus  comes  down  to  us. 

When,  after  feeling  dissatisfied  with  my  life, 
I  aspire  to  something  better,  am  more  scrupu 
lous,  more  reserved  and  continent,  as  if  expect 
ing  somewhat,  suddenly  I  find  myself  full  of  life 
as  a  nut  of  meat,  even  overflowing  with  a  quiet, 
genial  mirthfulness.  I  think  to  myself,  I  must 
attend  to  my  diet.  I  must  get  up  earlier  and 
take  a  morning  walk.  I  must  have  done  with 
business,  and  devote  myself  to  my  muse.  So  I 
dam  up  my  stream,  and  my  waters  gather  to  a 
head.  I  am  freighted  with  thought. 

Oct.  26,  1855.  P.  M.  To  Conantum.  I  ex 
amine  some  frost  weed.  It  is  still  quite  alive, 
indeed  just  out  of  bloom,  the  leaves  now  a  pur 
plish  brown,  and  its  bark  at  the  ground  is  quite 
tight  and  entire.  Pulling  it  up,  I  find  bright 
pink  shoots  to  have  put  forth,  half  an  inch  long, 
and  starting  even  at  the  surface  of  the  sod.  Is 
not  this,  as  well  as  its  second  blossoming,  some 
what  peculiar  to  this  plant  ?  and  may  it  not  be 


AUTUMN.  155 

that  when  at  last  the  cold  is  severe,  the  sap  is 
frozen  and  bursts  the  bark,  and  the  breath  of  the 
dying  plant  is  frozen  about  it?  I  see  a  red 
squirrel  dash  out  from  the  wall,  snatch  an  apple 
from  amid  many  on  the  ground,  and,  running 
swiftly  up  the  tree  with  it,  proceed  to  eat  it, 
sitting  on  a  smooth  dead  limb  with  its  back  to 
the  wind,  and  its  tail  curled  close  over  its  back. 
It  allows  me  to  approach  within  eight  feet.  It 
holds  the  apple  between  its  two  fore  paws,  and 
scoops  out  the  pulp  mainly  with  its  lower  inci 
sors,  making  a  saucer-like  cavity,  high  and  thin 
at  the  edge,  where  it  bites  off  the  skin  and  lets 
it  drop.  It  keeps  its  jaws  moving  very  briskly, 
from  time  to  time  turning  the  apple  round  and 
round  with  its  paws,  as  it  eats,  like  a  wheel  in  a 
plane  at  right  angles  with  its  body.  It  holds  it 
up  and  twirls  it  with  ease.  Suddenly  it  pauses, 
having  taken  alarm  at  something,  then  drops 
the  remainder  of  the  apple  in  the  hollow  of  a 
bough,  and  glides  off  in  short  snatches,  uttering 
a  faint,  sharp,  bird-like  note. 

I  sometimes  think  I  must  go  off  to  some  wil 
derness,  where  I  can  have  a  better  opportunity 
to  play  life,  can  find  more  suitable  materials  to 
build  my  house  with,  and  enjoy  the  pleasure  of 
collecting  my  fuel  in  the  forest. 

I  have  more  taste  for  the  wild  sports  of  hunt 
ing,  fishing,  wigwam  building,  and  collecting 


156  AUTUMN. 

wood  wherever  you  find  it,  than  for  butchering, 
farming,  carpentry,  working  in  a  factory  or 
going  to  a  wood  market. 

Oct.  26,  1857.  P.  M.  Round  by  Puffer's  via 
Clamshell.  A  driving  east  or  northeast  storm. 
I  can  see  through  the  stormy  mist  only  a  mile. 
The  river  is  getting  partly  over  the  meadows  at 
last,  and  my  spirits  rise  with  it.  Methinks  this 
rise  of  the  waters  must  affect  every  thought  and 
deed  in  the  town.  It  qualifies  my  sentence  and 
life.  I  trust  there  will  appear  in  this  journal 
some  flow,  some  gradual  filling  of  the  springs 
and  raising  of  the  streams,  that  the  accumulat 
ing  grists  may  be  ground.  A  storm  is  a  new 
and  in  some  respects  more  active  life  in  nature. 
Larger  migratory  birds  make  their  appearance. 
They  at  least  sympathize  with  the  movements  of 
the  watery  element  and  the  winds.  I  see  two 
great  fishhawks  (possibly  blue  herons)  slowly 
beating  northeast  against  the  storm,  —  by  what 
a  curious  tie  circling  ever  near  each  other  and 
in  the  same  direction,  as  if  you  might  expect 
the  very  motes  in  the  air  to  be  paired,  two  long 
undulating  wings  conveying  a  feathered  body 
through  the  misty  atmosphere  and  thus  insep 
arably  associated  with  another  planet  of  the  same 
species.  I  can  just  glimpse  their  undulating 
lives.  Damon  and  Pythias  they  must  be.  The 
waves  beneath,  which  are  of  kindred  form,  are 


AUTUMN.  157 


still  more  social,  multitudinous,  dvrjpifytoi/.  Where 
is  my  mate,  beating  against  the  storm  with  me  ? 
They  fly  according  to  the  valley  of  the  river, 
northeast  or  southwest.  I  start  up  snipes  also 
at  Clamshell  meadow.  This  weather  sets  the 
migratory  birds  in  motion,  and  also  makes 
them  bolder.  These  regular  phenomena  of  the 
seasons  get  at  last  to  be  (they  were,  at  first, 
of  course)  simply  and  plainly  phenomena  or 
phases  of  my  life.  The  seasons  and  all  their 
changes  are  in  me.  I  see  not  a  dead  eel  or 
floating  snake,  or  a  gull,  but  it  sounds  my  life, 
and  is  like  a  line  or  accent  in  its  poem.  Almost 
I  believe  the  Concord  would  not  rise  and  over 
flow  its  banks  again,  were  I  not  here.  After  a 
while  I  learn  what  my  moods  and  seasons  are.  I 
would  have  nothing  subtracted,  I  can  imagine 
nothing  added.  My  moods  are  thus  periodical, 
not  two  days  in  the  year  alike  :  the  perfect  cor 
respondence  of  nature  with  man,  so  that  he  is  at 
home  in  her  ! 

Many  sparrows  are  flitting  past  amid  the 
birches  and  sallows.  They  are  chiefly  Fringilla 
hiemalis.  How  often  they  may  be  seen  thus 
flitting  along  in  a  straggling  manner  from  bush 
to  bush,  so  that  the  hedgerow  will  be  all  alive 
with  them,  each  uttering  a  faint  chip  from  time 
to  time,  bewildering  you  so  that  you  know  not  if 
the  greater  part  are  gone  by,  or  still  to  come. 


158  AUTUMN. 

One  rests  but  a  moment  in  the  tree  before  you 
and  is  gone  again.  You  wonder  if  they  know 
whither  they  are  bound,  and  how  their  leader  is 
appointed.  Those  sparrows,  too,  are  thoughts  I 
have ;  they  come  and  go,  they  flit  by  quickly  on 
their  migrations,  uttering  only  a  faint  chip,  I 
know  not  whither  or  why,  exactly.  One  will  not 
rest  on  its  twig  for  me  to  scrutinize  it.  The 
whole  copse  will  be  alive  with  my  rambling 
thoughts,  bewildering  me  by  their  very  multi 
tude,  but  they  will  be  all  gone  directly  without 
leaving  me  a  feather. 

My  loftiest  thought  is  somewhat  like  an  eagle 
that  suddenly  comes  into  the  field  of  view,  sug 
gesting  great  things  and  thrilling  the  beholder, 
as  if  it  were  bound  hitherward  with  a  message 
for  me.  But  it  comes  no  nearer,  circles  and 
soars  away,  disappointing  me,  till  it  is  lost  be 
hind  a  cliff  or  a  cloud. 

Spring  is  brown ;  summer,  green  ;  autumn, 
yellow ;  winter,  white  ;  November,  gray. 

Oct.  27,  1851.  This  morning  I  awoke  and 
found  it  snowing  and  the  ground  covered  with 
snow,  quite  unexpectedly,  for  last  night  it  was 
rainy  and  not  cold.  The  strong  northwest  wind 
blows  the  damp  snow  along  almost  horizontally. 
The  birds  fly  about  as  if  seeking  shelter.  The 
cold  numbs  my  fingers  this  morning.  Winter, 
with  its  inwardness,  is  upon  us.  A  man  is  con 
strained  to  sit  down  and  to  think. 


AUTUMN.  159 

The  obstacles  which  the  heart  meets  with 
are  like  granite  blocks,  which  one  alone  cannot 
move.  She  who  was  as  the  morning  light  to  me, 
is  now  neither  the  morning  star  nor  the  evening 
star.  We  meet  but  to  find  each  other  further 
asunder,  and  the  oftener  we  meet,  the  more  rapid 
the  divergence.  So  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude 
pales  in  the  heavens,  not  from  any  fault  in  the 
observer's  eye,  nor  from  any  fault  in  itself,  per 
chance,  but  because  its  progress  in  its  own  sys 
tem  has  put  a  greater  distance  between. 

The  night  is  oracular.  What  have  been  the 
intimations  of  the  night  ?  I  ask.  How  have 
you  passed  the  night  ?  Good  night ! 

My  friend  will  be  bold  to  conjecture.  He  will 
guess  bravely  at  the  significance  of  my  words. 

The  Ardea  minor  still  with  us.  Saw  a  wood 
cock  or  snipe  (?)  feeding,  probing  the  mud  with 
its  long  bill,  under  the  railroad  bridge,  within 
two  feet  of  me.  For  a  long  time  I  could  not 
scare  it  far  away.  What  a  disproportionate 
length  of  bill ! 

Oct.  27,  1853.  I  love  to  be  reminded  of  that 
universal  and  eternal  spring  when  the  minute, 
crimson-starred  female  flowers  of  the  hazel  are 
peeping  forth  on  the  hillsides,  when  nature  re 
vives  in  all  her  pores. 

Some  less  obvious  and  commonly  unobserved 
signs  of  the  progress  of  the  seasons  interest  me 


160  AUTUMN. 

most,  like  the  loose  dangling  catkins  of  the  hop- 
hornbeam,  or  of  the  black  or  yellow  birch.  I 
can  recall  distinctly  to  my  mind  the  image  of 
these  things,  and  that  time  in  which  they  flour 
ished  is  glorious,  as  if  it  were  before  the  fall  of 
man.  I  see  all  nature  for  the  time  under  this 
aspect.  These  features  are  particularly  promi 
nent  ;  as  if  the  first  object  I  saw  on  approaching 
this  planet  in  the  spring  was  the  catkins  of  the 
hop  hornbeam  on  the  hillsides.  As  I  sailed  by, 
I  saw  the  yellowish  waving  sprays. 

Oct.  27,  1857.  P.  M.  Up  river.  The  third 
day  of  steady  rain.  Wind  northeast.  I  go  up 
the  river  as  far  as  Hillard's  second  grove  in 
order  to  share  the  general  commotion  and  excite 
ment  of  the  elements,  wind  and  waves  and  rain. 
A  half  dozen  boats  at  the  landing  were  full,  and 
the  waves  beating  over  them.  It  was  hard  get 
ting  out,  hauling  up,  and  emptying  mine.  It 
was  a  rod  and  a  half  from  the  water's  edge. 
Now  look  out  for  your  rails  and  other  fencing 
stuff  and  loose  lumber,  lest  it  be  floated  off.  I 
sailed  swiftly,  standing  up,  and  tipping  my  boat 
to  make  it  keel  on  its  side,  though  at  first  it  was 
hard  to  keep  off  a  lee  shore.  It  was  exciting  to 
feel  myself  tossed  by  the  dark  waves,  and  hear 
them  surge  about  me.  The  reign  of  water  now 
begins,  and  how  it  gambols  and  revels ;  waves 
are  its  leaves,  foam  its  blossoms.  How  they  run 


AUTUMN.  161 

and  leap  in  great  droves,  deriving  new  excite 
ment  from  each  other ;  schools  of  porpoises  and 
blackfish  are  only  more  animated  waves,  and  have 
acquired  the  gait  and  gambols  of  the  sea  itself. 

I  hear  that  Sammy  Hoar  saw  geese  go  over 
to-day.  The  fall,  strictly  speaking,  is  approach 
ing  an  end  in  this  probably  annual  northeast 
storm.  Thus  the  summer  winds  up  its  accounts. 
The  Indians,  it  is  said,  did  not  look  for  winter 
till  the  springs  were  full.  The  ducks  and  other 
fowl,  reminded  of  the  lateness,  go  by.  The  few 
remaining  leaves  come  fluttering  down.  The 
snow-fleas,  as  to-day,  are  washed  out  of  the  bark 
of  meadow  trees,  and  cover  the  surface  of  the 
flood.  The  winter's  wood  is  bargained  for  and 
being  hauled.  There  is  not  much  more  for  the 
farmer  to  do  in  the  fields.  This  storm  reminds 
men  to  put  things  on  a  winter  footing. 

The  real  facts  of  a  poet's  life  would  be  of 
more  value  to  us  than  any  work  of  his  art.  I 
mean  that  the  very  scheme  and  form  of  his 
poetry,  so  called,  is  adopted  at  a  sacrifice  of  vital 
truth  and  poetry.  Shakespeare  has  left  us  his 
fancies  and  imaginings,  but  the  truth  of  his 
life,  with  its  becoming  circumstances,  we  know 
nothing  about.  The  writer  is  reported,  the 
liver  not  at  all.  Shakespeare's  house  !  how  hol 
low  it  is  !  No  man  can  conceive  of  Shakespeare 
in  that  house.  We  want  the  basis  of  fact,  of 


162  AUTUMN. 

an  actual  life,  to  complete  our  Shakespeare  as 
much  as  a  statue  wants  its  pedestal.  A  poet's 
life,  with  this  broad  actual  basis,  would  be  as 
superior  to  Shakespeare's,  as  a  lichen,  with  its 
base  or  thallus,  is  superior,  in  the  order  of  being, 
to  a  fungus. 

The  Littleton  giant  brought  us  a  load  of  coal 
within  the  week.  He  appears  deformed  and 
weakly,  though  actually  well-formed.  He  does 
not  nearly  stand  up  straight.  His  knees  knock 
together.  They  touch  when  he  is  standing  most 
upright,  and  so  reduce  his  height  at  least  three 
inches.  He  is  also  very  round-shouldered  and 
stooping,  probably  from  the  habit  of  crouching 
to  conceal  his  height.  He  wears  a  low  hat  for 
the  same  purpose.  The  tallest  man  looks  like  a 
boy  beside  him.  He  has  a  seat  to  his  wagon 
made  on  purpose  for  him.  He  habitually  stops 
before  all  doors.  You  wonder  what  his  horses 
think  of  him,  that  a  strange  horse  is  not  afraid 
of  him.  His  voice  is  deep  and  full,  but  mild, 
for  he  is  quite  modest  and  retiring,  really  a 
worthy  man,  't  is  said.  Pity  he  could  not  have 
been  undertaken  by  a  committee  in  season,  and 
put  through  like  the  boy  Safford,  been  well  de 
veloped  bodily  and  mentally,  taught  to  hold  up 
his  head,  and  not  mind  people's  eyes  or  remarks. 
It  is  remarkable  that  the  giants  have  never  cor 
respondingly  great  hearts. 


AUTUMN.  163 

Oct.  27,  1858.  Who  will  attempt  to  describe 
in  words  the  difference  in  tint  between  two 
neighboring  leaves  on  the  same  tree  [in  autumn] 
or  of  two  thousand  ?  for  by  so  many  the  eye  is 
addressed  in  a  glance.  In  describing  the  richly 
spotted  leaves,  for  instance,  how  often  we  find 
ourselves  using  ineffectually  words  which  indicate 
faintly  our  good  intentions,  giving  them  in  our 
despair  a  terminal  twist  toward  our  mark,  such 
as  reddish,  yellowish,  purplish,  etc.  We  cannot 
make  a  hue  of  words,  for  they  are  not  to  be 
compounded  like  colors,  and  hence  we  are  obliged 
to  use  such  ineffectual  expressions  as  reddish- 
brown,  etc.  They  need  to  be  ground  together. 

Oct.  28,  1853.  For  a  year  or  two  past,  my 
publisher,  falsely  so  called,  has  been  writing 
from  time  to  time,  to  ask  what  disposition  should 
be  made  of  the  copies  of  "  A  Week  on  the 
Concord  and  Merrimack  Eivers  "  still  on  hand, 
and  at  last  suggesting  that  he  had  use  for  the 
room  they  occupied  in  his  cellar.  So  I  had 
them  all  sent  to  me  here,  and  they  have  arrived 
to-day  by  express,  filling  the  man's  wagon,  706 
copies  out  of  an  edition  of  1000,  which  I  bought 
of  Munroe  four  years  ago,  and  have  been  ever 
since  paying  for  and  have  not  quite  paid  for  yet. 
The  wares  are  sent  to  me  at  last,  and  I  have 
an  opportunity  to  examine  my  purchase.  They 
are  something  more  substantial  than  fame,  as 


164  AUTUMN. 

my  back  knows,  which  has  borne  them  up  two 
flights  of  stairs  to  a  place  similar  to  that  to 
which  they  trace  their  origin.  Of  the  remain 
ing  290  and  odd,  75  were  given  away,  the  rest 
sold.  I  have  now  a  library  of  nearly  900  vol 
umes,  over  700  of  which  I  wrote  myself.  Is 
it  not  well  that  the  author  should  behold  the 
fruits  of  his  labor  ?  My  works  are  piled  up  on 
one  side  of  my  chamber  half  as  high  as  my  head, 
my  opera  omnia.  This  was  authorship,  these  are 
the  works  of  my  brain.  There  was  just  one 
piece  of  good  luck  in  the  venture.  The  un 
bound  were  tied  up  by  the  printer  four  years 
ago  in  stout  paper  wrappers,  and  inscribed :  — 
H.  D.  Thoreau, 
Concord  River, 

50  cops. 

so  Munroe  had  only  to  cross  out  "  River  "  and 
write  "  Mass.,"  and  deliver  them  to  the  express 
man  at  once.  I  can  see  now  what  I  write  for, 
the  result  of  my  labors.  Nevertheless  in  spite 
of  this  result,  sitting  beside  the  inert  mass  of  my 
works,  I  take  up  my  pen  to-night  to  record  what 
thought  or  experience  I  may  have  had,  with  as 
much  satisfaction  as  ever.  Indeed  I  believe 
that  the  result  is  more  inspiring  and  better  for 
me  than  if  a  thousand  had  bought  my  wares. 
It  affects  my  privacy  less  and  leaves  me  freer. 
Oct.  28,  1855.  By  boat  to  Leaning  Hem- 


AUTUMN.  165 

locks.  As  I  paddle  under  the  hemlock  bank 
this  shady  afternoon,  about  three  o'clock,  I  see 
a  screech-owl  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  hollow 
hemlock  stump  about  three  feet  high,  at  the 
base  of  a  large  hemlock.  It  sits  with  its  head 
down,  eying  me  with  its  eyes  partly  open,  about 
twenty  feet  off.  When  it  hears  me  move,  it 
turns  its  head  toward  me,  perhaps  one  eye  partly 
open,  with  its  great,  gleaming,  golden  iris.  You 
see  two  whitish  triangular  lines  above  the  eye, 
meeting  at  the  bill,  with  a  sharp  reddish-brown 
triangle  between,  and  a  narrow  curved  line  of 
black  under  each  eye.  At  this  distance  and  in 
this  light,  you  see  only  a  black  spot  where  the 
eye  is,  and  the  question  is  whether  the  eyes  are 
open  or  not.  It  sits  on  the  lee  side  of  the  tree 
this  raw  and  windy  day.  You  would  say  this 
was  a  bird  without  a  neck.  Its  short  bill,  which 
rests  upon  its  breast,  scarcely  projects  at  all,  but 
in  a  state  of  rest  the  whole  upper  part  of  the 
bird  from  the  wings  is  rounded  off  smoothly, 
except  the  horns,  which  stand  up  conspicuously 
or  are  slanted  back.  After  watching  it  ten  min 
utes  from  the  boat,  I  landed  two  rods  above,  and, 
stealing  up  quietly  behind  the  hemlock,  though 
from  the  windward,  I  looked  carefully  round  it, 
and  to  my  surprise,  saw  the  owl  still  sitting 
there ;  so  I  sprang  round  quickly  with  my  arm 
outstretched,  and  caught  it  in  my  hand.  It  was 


166  AUTUMN. 

so  surprised  that  it  offered  no  resistance  at  first, 
only  glared  at  me  in  mute  astonishment  with 
eyes  as  big  as  saucers.  But  erelong  it  began  to 
snap  its  bill,  making  quite  a  noise,  and  as  I 
rolled  it  up  in  my  handkerchief  and  put  it  in 
my  pocket,  it  bit  my  ringer  slightly.  I  soon 
took  it  out  of  my  pocket,  and  tying  the  hand 
kerchief,  left  it  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  So 
I  carried  it  home,  and  made  a  small  cage  in 
which  to  keep  it  for  a  night.  When  I  took  it 
up,  it  clung  so  tightly  to  my  hand  as  to  sink 
its  claws  into  my  fingers  and  bring  blood. 
When  alarmed  or  provoked  most,  it  snaps  its 
bill  and  hisses.  It  puffs  up  its  feathers  to 
nearly  twice  its  usual  size,  stretches  out  its 
neck,  and  with  wide-open  eyes  stares  this  way 
and  that,  moving  its  head  slowly  and  undulat- 
ingly  from  side  to  side  with  a  curious  motion. 
While  I  write  this  evening,  I  see  there  is  ground 
for  much  superstition  in  it.  It  looks  out  on  me 
from  a  dusky  corner  of  its  box  with  its  great 
solemn  eyes,  perfectly  still.  I  was  surprised  to 
find  that  I  could  imitate  its  note,  as  I  remember 
it,  by  a  guttural  whimpering.  A  remarkably 
squat  figure,  being  very  broad  in  proportion  to 
its  length,  with  a  short  tail,  and  very  cat-like 
in  the  face  with  its  horns  and  great  eyes.  Re 
markably  large  feet  and  talons,  legs  thickly 
clothed  to  the  talons  with  whitish  down.  It 


AUTUMN.  167 

would  lower  its  head,  stretch  out  its  neck,  and, 
bending  it  from  side  to  side,  peer  at  you  with 
laughable  circumspection ;  from  side  to  side,  as 
if  to  catch  or  absorb  into  its  eyes  every  ray  of 
light,  strain  at  you  with  complacent  yet  earnest 
scrutiny,  raising  and  lowering  its  head,  and 
moving  it  from  side  to  side  in  a  slow  and  regu 
lar  manner,  at  the  same  time  snapping  its  bill 
smartly  perhaps  and  faintly  hissing  and  puffing 
itself  up  more  and  more,  cat-like,  turtle-like, 
both  in  hissing  and  swelling.  The  slowness 
and  gravity,  not  to  say  solemnity  of  this  motion 
are  striking.  There  is  plainly  no  jesting  in  this 
case.  General  color  of  the  owl  a  rather  pale 
and  perhaps  slightly  reddish  brown,  the  feathers 
centred  with  black.  Perches  with  two  claws 
above,  and  two  below  the  perch.  He  has  a  slight 
body  covered  with  a  mass  of  soft  and  light-lying 
feathers,  his  head  muffled  in  a  great  hood.  He 
must  be  quite  comfortable  in  winter.  Dropped 
a  pellet  of  fur  and  bones  (?)  in  his  cage.  He 
sat  not  really  moping,  but  trying  to  sleep  in  a 
corner  of  his  box  all  day,  yet  with  one  or  both 
eyes  slightly  open  all  the  while.  I  never  once 
caught  him  with  his  eyes  shut.  Ordinarily  he 
stood  rather  than  sat  on  his  perch. 

Oct.  29.  Up  Assabet.  Carried  my  owl  to 
the  hill  again ;  had  to  shake  him  out  of  the  box, 
for  he  did  not  go  of  his  own  accord.  (He  had 


168  AUTUMN. 

learned  to  alight  on  his  perch,  and  it  was  sur 
prising  how  lightly  and  noiselessly  he  would  hop 
upon  it.)  There  he  stood  on  the  grass,  at  first 
bewildered,  with  his  horns  pricked  up  and  look 
ing  toward  me.  In  this  strong  light,  the  pupils 
of  his  eyes  suddenly  contracted  and  the  iris  ex 
panded,  till  they  were  two  great  brazen  orbs 
with  a  central  spot  merely.  His  attitude  ex 
pressed  astonishment  more  than  anything  else. 
I  was  obliged  to  toss  him  up  a  little  that  he 
might  feel  his  wings,  and  then  he  flapped  away 
low  and  heavily  to  a  hickory  on  a  hillside 
twenty  rods  off.  I  had  let  him  out  on  the  plain 
just  east  of  the  hill.  Thither  I  followed  and 
tried  to  start  him  again.  He  was  now  on  the 
qui  vive,  yet  would  not  start.  He  erected  his 
head,  showing  some  neck  narrower  than  the 
round  head  above.  His  eyes  were  broad  brazen 
rings  around  bullets  of  black.  His  horns  stood 
quite  an  inch  high,  as  not  before.  As  I  moved 
around  him,  he  turned  his  head  always  toward 
me  till  he  looked  directly  behind  himself,  as  he 
sat  crosswise  on  a  bough.  He  behaved  as  if  be 
wildered  and  dazzled,  gathering  all  the  light  he 
could,  and  even  straining  his  great  eyes  to  make 
me  out,  but  not  inclining  to  fly.  I  had  to  lift 
him  again  with  a  stick  to  make  him  fly,  and 
then  he  only  rose  to  a  higher  perch,  where  at 
last  he  seemed  to  seek  the  shelter  of  a  thicker 


AUTUMN.  169 

cluster  of  sere  leaves,  partly  crouching  there. 
He  never  appeared  so  much  alarmed  as  sur 
prised  and  astonished.  At  the  bottom  of  the  hol 
low  [stump?]  on  the  edge  of  which  he  sat  when 
I  first  saw  him  yesterday,  eighteen  inches  be 
neath  him,  was  a  very  soft  bed  of  the  fine  green 
moss,  hypnum,  which  grows  on  the  bank  close 
by,  probably  his  own  bed.  It  had  been  recently 
put  there. 

I  have  got  a  load  of  great  hard-wood  stumps. 

For  sympathy  with  my  neighbors,  I  might 
about  as  well  live  in  China.  They  are  to  me 
barbarians,  with  their  committee-works  and 
gregariousness. 

Oct.  28,  1857.  As  I  sat  at  the  wall  corner, 
high  on  Conantum,  the  sky  generally  covered 
with  continuous,  cheerless-looking  slate-colored 
clouds,  except  in  the  west,  I  saw  through  the 
hollows  of  the  clouds  here  and  there  the  blue 
appearing,  and  all  at  once  a  low-slanted  glade 
of  sunlight  from  one  of  heaven's  west  windows 
behind  me  fell  on  the  bare  gray  maples,  lighting 
them  up  with  an  incredibly  intense  and  pure 
white  light;  then,  going  out  there,  it  lit  up 
some  white  birch  stems  south  of  the  pond,  then 
the  gray  rocks  and  the  pale  reddish  young  oaks 
of  the  lower  cliffs,  then  the  very  pale  brown 
meadow  grass,  and  at  last  the  brilliant  white 
breasts  of  two  ducks  tossing  on  the  agitated 


170  AUTUMN. 

surface  far  off  on  the  pond,  which  I  had  not  de 
tected  before.  It  was  but  a  transient  ray,  and 
there  was  no  sunshine  afterward,  but  the  inten 
sity  of  the  light  was  surprising  and  impressive, 
a  halo,  a  glory  in  which  only  the  just  deserved 
to  live.  It  was  as  if  the  air,  purified  by  the 
long  storm,  reflected  these  few  rays  from  side 
to  side  with  a  complete  illumination,  like  a  per 
fectly  polished  mirror,  while  the  effect  was 
greatly  enhanced  by  the  contrast  with  the  dull, 
dark  clouds  and  the  sombre  earth.  As  if  na 
ture  did  not  dare  at  once  to  let  in  the  full  blaze 
of  the  sun  to  this  combustible  atmosphere.  It 
was  a  serene  Elysian  light,  in  which  the  deeds  I 
have  dreamed  of,  but  not  realized,  might  have 
been  performed.  No  perfectly  fair  weather 
ever  offered  such  an  arena  for  noble  deeds.  It 
was  such  a  light  as  we  behold  but  dwell  not  in. 
Late  in  the  year,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  we  have 
visions  of  the  life  we  might  have  lived.  In 
each  case,  every  recess  was  filled  and  lit  up  by 
the  pure  white  light.  The  maples  were  Potter's, 
far  down  stream,  but  I  dreamed  I  walked  like 
a  liberated  spirit  in  the  maze ;  the  withered 
meadow  grass  was  as  soft  and  glorious  as  para 
dise.  And  then  it  was  remarkable  that  the 
light-giver  should  have  revealed  to  me  for  all 
life  the  heaving  white  breasts  of  those  two 
ducks  within  this  glade  of  light.  It  was  extin- 


AUTUMN.  171 

guished  and  relit  as  it  traveled.  Tell  me  pre 
cisely  the  value  and  significance  of  these  tran 
sient  gleams  which  come  sometimes  at  the  end 
of  the  day  before  the  final  dispersion  of  the 
clouds  at  the  close  of  a  storm ;  too  late  to  be  of 
any  service  to  the  works  of  man  for  the  day, 
and  though  the  whole  night  after  may  be  over 
cast.  Is  not  this  a  language  to  be  heard  and 
understood?  There  is  in  the  brown  and  gray 
earth  and  rocks,  and  the  withered  leaves  and 
bare  twigs  at  this  season  a  purity  more  corre 
spondent  to  the  light  itself  than  summer  offers. 

I  look  up  and  see  a  male  marsh-hawk,  with 
his  clean-cut  wings,  that  has  just  skimmed  past 
over  my  head,  not  at  all  disturbed,  only  tilting 
his  body  a  little,  now  twenty  rods  off,  with  a 
demi-semi-quaver  of  his  wings.  He  is  a  very 
neat  flyer.  I  do  not  often  see  the  marsh-hawk 
thus.  What  a  regular  figure  this  fellow  makes 
with  his  broad  tail  and  broad  wings  !  Does  he 
perceive  me,  that  he  rises  higher  and  circles  to 
one  side?  He  goes  round  now  one  full  circle 
without  a  flap,  tilting  his  wing  a  little.  Then 
flaps  three  or  four  times,  and  rises  higher. 
Now  he  comes  on  like  a  billow,  screaming, 
steady  as  a  planet  in  its  orbit,  with  his  head 
bent  down,  but  on  second  thought  that  small 
sprout  land  seems  worthy  of  a  longer  scrutiny, 
and  he  gives  one  circle  backward  over  it.  His 


172  AUTUMN. 

scream  is  something  like  the  whinnying  of  a 
horse,  if  it  is  not  rather  a  split  squeal.  It  is  a 
hoarse,  tremulous  breathing  forth  of  his  winged 
energy.  But  why  is  it  so  regularly  repeated 
at  that  height?  Is  it  not  to  scare  his  prey, 
that  he  may  see  by  its  motion  where  it  is,  or 
to  inform  its  mate  or  companion  of  its  where 
abouts?  Now  he  crosses  the  at  present  broad 
river  steadily,  desiring  to  have  one  or  two  rab 
bits  at  least  to  swing  about  him.  What  majesty 
there  is  in  this  small  bird's  flight ! 

Oct.  28,  1858.  How  handsome  the  great 
red-oak  acorns  now.  I  stand  under  the  tree  on 
Emerson's  lot.  They  are  still  falling.  I  heard 
one  fall  into  the  water  as  I  approached,  and 
thought  a  muskrat  had  plunged.  They  strew 
the  ground  and  the  bottom  of  the  river  thickly, 
and  while  I  stand  here,  I  hear  one  strike  the 
boughs  with  force,  as  it  comes  down  and  drops 
into  the  water.  The  part  that  was  covered  by 
the  cup  is  whitish  woolly.  How  munificent  is 
nature  to  create  this  profusion  of  wild  fruit,  as 
it  were  merely  to  gratify  our  eyes.  Though  in 
edible,  they  stand  by  me  longer  than  the  fruits 
which  I  eat.  If  they  had  been  plums  or  chest 
nuts  I  should  have  eaten  them  on  the  spot,  and 
probably  forgotten  them.  They  would  have 
afforded  me  only  a  momentary  gratification,  but, 
being  acorns,  I  remember  and,  as  it  were,  feed 


AUTUMN.  173 

on  them  still.  They  are  untasted  fruits,  forever 
in  store  for  me.  I  know  not  of  their  flavor 
as  yet.  That  is  postponed  to  some  unimagined 
winter  evening.  These  which  we  admire,  but 
do  not  eat,  are  nuts  of  the  gods.  When  time  is 
no  more  we  shall  crack  them.  I  cannot  help 
liking  them  better  than  horse  chestnuts, ,  not 
only  because  they  are  of  a  much  handsomer  form 
but  because  they  are  indigenous.  What  pale 
plump  fellows  they  are !  They  can  afford  not 
to  be  useful  to  me,  not  to  know  me  or  be  known 
by  me.  They  go  their  way,  I  go  mine,  and  it 
turns  out  that  sometimes  I  go  after  them. 

Oct.  28,  1859.  Walnuts  commonly  fall,  and 
the  black  walnuts  at  Smith's  are  at  least 
one  half  fallen.  They  are  of  the  form  and  size 
of  a  small  lemon,  and,  what  is  singular,  have  a 
rich  nutmeg  fragrance.  They  are  turning  dark 
brown.  Gray  says  it  is  rare  in  the  eastern,  but 
very  common  in  the  western  states.  Is  it  indi 
genous  in  Massachusetts  ?  Emerson  says  it  is, 
but  rare.  If  so,  it  is  much  the  most  remarkable 
nut  we  have. 

Oct.  29,  1837.  A  curious  incident  happened 
a  few  weeks  ago  which  I  think  it  worth  while 
to  record.  John  and  I  had  been  searching  for 
Indian  relics,  and  been  successful  enough  to 
find  two  arrow-heads  and  a  pestle,  when,  of  a 
Sunday  evening,  with  our  heads  full  of  the  past 


174  AUTUMN. 

and  its  remains,  we  strolled  to  the  mouth  of 
Swamp  Bridge  Brook.  As  we  neared  the  brow 
of  the  hill  forming  the  bank  of  the  river, 
inspired  by  my  theme,  I  broke  forth  into  an 
extravagant  eulogy  of  the  savage  times,  using 
most  violent  gesticulations  by  way  of  illustra 
tion.  "  There  on  Nawshawtuck,"  said  I,  "  was 
their  lodge,  the  rendezvous  of  the  tribe,  and 
yonder  on  Clamshell  Hill,  their  feasting  ground. 
This  was  no  doubt  a  favorite  haunt ;  here  on 
this  brow  was  an  eligible  lookout-post.  How 
often  have  they  stood  on  this  very  spot,  at  this 
very  hour,  when  the  sun  was  sinking  behind 
yonder  woods,  and  gilding  with  his  last  rays 
the  waters  of  the  Musketaquid,  and  pondered 
the  day's  success  and  the  morrow's  prospects,  or 
communed  with  the  spirits  of  their  fathers  gone 
before  them  to  the  land  of  the  shades  !  Here," 
I  exclaimed,  "  stood  Tahatowan,  and  there,"  to 
complete  the  period,  "  is  Tahatowan's  arrow 
head."  We  instantly  proceeded  to  sit  down  on 
the  spot  I  had  pointed  to,  and  I,  to  carry  out 
the  joke,  to  lay  bare  an  ordinary  stone  which 
my  whim  had  selected,  when  lo !  the  first  I 
laid  hands  on,  the  grubbing  stone  that  was  to 
be,  proved  a  most  perfect  arrow-head,  as  sharp 
as  if  just  from  the  hands  of  the  Indian  fabrica 
tor. 

Oct.  29,    1857.     There  are  some    things    of 


AUTUMN.  175 

which  I  cannot  at  once  tell,  whether  I  have 
dreamed  them  or  they  are  real,  as  if  they  were 
just  perchance  establishing  or  else  losing  a  real 
basis  in  my  world.  This  is  especially  the  case 
in  the  early  morning  hours,  when  there  is  a 
gradual  transition  from  dreams  to  waking 
thoughts,  from  illusions  to  actualities.  Such 
early  morning  thoughts  as  I  speak  of  occupy  a 
debatable  ground  between  dreams  and  waking 
thoughts  ;  they  are  a  sort  of  permanent  dream 
in  my  mind.  At  least,  until  we  have  for  some 
time  changed  our  position  from  prostrate  to 
erect,  and  faced  or  commenced  some  of  the 
duties  of  the  day,  we  cannot  tell  what  we  have 
dreamed  from  what  we  have  actually  experi 
enced.  This  morning,  for  instance,  for  the 
twentieth  time,  at  least,  I  thought  of  that  moun 
tain  in  the  easterly  part  of  the  town,  where  no 
high  hill  actually  is,  which  once  or  twice  I  had 
ascended,  and  often  allowed  my  thoughts  alone  to 
climb.  I  now  contemplate  it  as  a  familiar  thought 
which  I  have  surely  had  for  many  years  from 
time  to  time,  but  whether  anything  could  have 
reminded  me  of  it  in  the  middle  of  yesterday, 
whether  I  ever  remembered  it  before  in  broad 
daylight,  I  doubt.  I  can  now  eke  out  the  vision 
I  had  of  it  this  morning  with  my  old  and  yes 
terday-forgotten  dreams.  My  way  up  used  to 
be  through  a  dark  and  unfrequented '  wood  at 


176  AUTUMN. 

its  base.  (I  cannot  now  tell  exactly,  it  was  so 
long  ago,  under  what  circumstances  I  first  as 
cended,  only  that  I  shuddered,  as  I  went  along, 
and  have  an  indistinct  remembrance  of  having 
been  out  one  night  alone.)  Then  I  steadily  as 
cended  along  a  rock  ridge,  half  clad  with  stunted 
trees,  where  wild  beasts  haunted,  till  I  lost  my 
self  quite  in  the  upper  air  and  clouds,  seeming 
to  pass  an  imaginary  line  which  separates  a  hill, 
mere  earth  heaped  up,  from  a  mountain,  into  a 
superterranean  grandeur  and  sublimity.  What 
distinguishes  that  summit  above  the  earthy  line, 
is  that  it  is  unhandseled,  awful,  grand.  It  can 
never  become  familiar.  You  are  lost  the  mo 
ment  you  set  foot  there.  You  know  110  path, 
but  wander,  thrilled,  over  the  bare  and  pathless 
rock,  as  if  it  were  solidified  air  and  cloud.  That 
rocky,  misty  summit,  secreted  in  the  cloud,  was 
far  more  thrillingly  awful  and  sublime  than  the 
crater  of  a  volcano  spouting  fire. 

This  is  a  matter  we  can  partly  understand. 
The  perfect  mountain  height  is  already  thor 
oughly  purified.  It  is  as  if  you  trod  with  awe 
the  face  of  a  god  turned  up,  unwillingly,  but 
helplessly,  yielding  to  the  law  of  gravity.  In 
dreams  I  am  shown  this  height  from  time  to 
time,  and  I  seem  to  have  asked  my  fellow  once 
to  climb  there  with  me,  and  yet  I  am  constrained 
to  believe  that  I  never  actually  ascended  it. 


AUTUMN.  177 

Now  first  I  recall  that  it  rises  in  my  mind  where 
lies  the  burying  hill.  You  might  go  through 
that  gate  to  enter  the  dark  wood.  Perchance  it 
was  the  grave,  but  that  hill  and  its  graves  are 
so  concealed  and  obliterated  by  the  awful  moun 
tain  that  I  never  thought  of  them  as  underlying 
it.  My  old  way  down  was  different,  and  indeed 
this  was  another  way  up,  though  I  never  so 
ascended.  I  came  out,  as  I  descended,  from 
the  belt  of  wood,  breathing  the  thicker  air,  into 
a  familiar  pasture,  and  along  down  by  a  wall. 
Often  as  I  go  along  the  low  side  of  this  pasture, 
I  let  my  thoughts  ascend  toward  the  mount,  grad 
ually  entering  the  stunted  wood  (nature  sub 
dued)  and  the  thinner  air.  Ever  there  are  two 
ways  up,  one  through  the  dark  wood,  the  other 
through  the  sunny  pasture.  That  is,  I  reach 
and  discover  the  mountain  only  through  the 
dark  wood,  but  I  see  to  my  surprise,  when  I 
look  off  between  the  mists  from  its  summit,  how 
it  is  ever  adjacent  to  my  native  fields,  nay,  im 
minent  over  them,  and  accessible  through  a 
sunny  pasture.  Why  is  it  that  in  the  lives  of 
men  we  hear  more  of  the  dark  wood  than  of  the 
sunny  pasture  ?  Though  the  pleasure  of  ascend 
ing  the  mountain  is  largely  mixed  with  awe,  my 
thoughts  are  purified  and  sublimed  by  it,  as  if  I 
had  been  translated. 

We  see  mankind  generally,  who  toil  to  ac- 


178  AUTUMN. 

quire  wealth,  or  perhaps  inherit  it,  or  acquire  it 
by  other  accident,  having  recourse  for  relaxation 
after  excessive  toil,  or  as  a  mere  relief  from  idle 
ennui,  to  artificial  amusements,  rarely  elevating, 
often  debasing.  I  think  men  are  commonly 
mistaken  with  regard  to  amusements.  Every 
one  who  deserves  to  be  regarded  as  higher  than 
the  brute  may  be  supposed  to  have  an  earnest 
purpose,  to  accomplish  which  is  the  object  of  his 
existence,  and  this  is  at  once  his  work  and  his 
supreme  pleasure,  and  for  diversion  and  relaxa 
tion,  for  suggestion  and  education  and  strength, 
there  is  offered  the  never-failing  amusement  of 
getting  a  living,  —  never-failing,  I  mean,  when 
temperately  indulged  in.  I  know  of  no  such 
amusement,  so  wholesome,  and  in  every  sense 
profitable,  for  instance,  as  to  spend  an  hour  or 
two  in  a  day,  picking  berries  or  other  fruits 
which  will  be  food  for  the  winter,  or  collecting 
driftwood  from  the  river  for  fuel,  or  cultivating 
the  few  beans  or  potatoes  which  I  want.  Thea 
tres  and  operas,  which  intoxicate  for  a  season, 
are  as  nothing  compared  with  these  pursuits. 
And  so  it  is  with  all  the  true  arts  of  life.  Farm 
ing  and  building  and  manufacturing  and  sailing 
are  the  greatest  and  wholesomest  amusements 
that  were  ever  invented,  for  God  invented  them, 
and  I  suppose  that  the  farmers  and  mechanics 
know  it,  only  I  think  they  indulge  to  excess 


AUTUMN.  179 

generally,  and  so  what  was  meant  for  a  joy  be 
comes  the  sweat  of  the  brow.  Gambling,  horse- 
racing,  loafing,  and  rowdyism  generally  after  all 
tempt  but  few.  The  mass  are  tempted  by  those 
other  amusements,  of  farming,  etc.  By  these 
various  pursuits  your  experience  becomes  singu 
larly  complete  and  rounded.  Their  novelty  and 
significance  are  remarkable.  Such  is  the  path 
by  which  we  climb  to  the  height  of  our  being. 
Compare  the  poetry  which  such  simple  pursuits 
have  inspired  with  the  unreadable  volumes 
which  have  been  written  about  art.  I  find  when 
I  have  been  building  a  fence  or  surveying  a 
farm,  or  even  collecting  simples,  that  these  were 
the  true  path  to  perception  and  enjoyment. 
My  being  seems  to  have  put  forth  new  roots, 
and  to  be  more  strongly  planted.  This  is  the 
true  way  to  crack  the  nut  of  happiness.  If  as  a 
poet  or  naturalist  you  wish  to  explore  a  given 
neighborhood,  go  and  live  in  it,  that  is,  get  your 
living  in  it.  Fish  in  its  streams,  hunt  in  its 
forests,  gather  fuel  from  its  water,  its  woods, 
cultivate  the  ground,  and  pluck  the  wild  fruits, 
etc.,  etc.  This  will  be  the  surest  and  speediest 
way  to  those  perceptions  you  covet.  No  amuse 
ment  has  worn  better  than  farming.  It  tempts 
men  just  as  strongly  to-day  as  in  the  day  of  Cin- 
cinnatus.  Healthily  and  properly  pursued,  it 
is  not  a  whit  more  grave  than  huckleberrying, 


180  AUTUMN. 

and  if  it  takes  airs  on  itself  as  superior,  there 
is  something  wrong  about  it.  I  have  aspired  to 
practice  in  succession  all  the  honest  arts  of  life 
that  I  may  gather  all  the  fruits.  But  if  you  are 
intemperate,  if  you  toil  to  raise  an  unnecessary 
amount,  even  the  large  crop  of  wheat  becomes 
as  a  small  crop  of  chaff.  If  our  living  were 
once  honestly  got,  then  it  would  be  time  to  in 
vent  other  amusements. 

After  reading  Ruskin  on  the  love  of  nature,  I 
think,  "  Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian 
spring ! "  He  there,  to  my  surprise,  expresses 
the  common  infidelity  of  his  age  and  race.  He 
has  not  implicitly  surrendered  himself  to  nature. 
And  what  does  he  substitute  for  her  ?  I  do  not 
know,  unless  it  be  the  Church  of  England,  ques 
tioning  whether  that  relation  to  nature  was  of 
so  much  value  after  all.  It  is  sour  grapes  !  He 
does  not  speak  to  the  condition  of  foxes  that 
have  more  spring  in  the  legs.  The  love  of  na 
ture  and  fullest  perception  of  the  revelation 
which  she  is  to  man,  is  not  compatible  with  be 
lief  in  the  peculiar  revelation  of  the  Bible  which 
Ruskin  entertains. 

Oct.  29,  1858.  The  cat  comes  stealthily 
creeping  towards  some  prey  amid  the  withered 
flowers  in  the  garden,  which  being  disturbed  by 
my  approach,  she  runs  low  toward  it,  with  an 
unusual  glare  or  superficial  light  in  her  eye, 


AUTUMN.  181 

ignoring  her  oldest  acquaintance,  as  wild  as  her 
remotest  ancestor,  and  presently  I  see  the  first 
tree  sparrow  hopping  there.  I  hear  them  also 
amid  the  alders  by  the  river  singing  sweetly,  but 
with  a  few  notes. 

English  plants  have  English  habits  here. 
They  are  not  yet  acclimated.  They  are  early  or 
late,  as  if  ours  were  an  English  spring  or  autumn, 
and  no  doubt  in  course  of  time  a  change  will  be 
produced  in  their  constitutions  similar  to  that 
which  is  observed  in  the  English  man  here. 

Oct.  30, 1858.  I  see  that  Prichard's  mountain 
ash  (European)  has  lately  put  forth  new  leaves 
when  all  the  old  have  fallen.  They  are  four  or 
five  inches  long.  But  the  American  has  not 
started.  It  knows  better. 

Oct.  31,  1850.  This  has  been  the  most  per 
fect  afternoon  of  the  year.  The  air  quite  warm 
enough,  perfectly  still  and  dry  and  clear,  and 
not  a  cloud  in  the  sky.  Scarcely  the  song  of  a 
cricket  is  heard  to  disturb  the  stillness. 

Our  Indian  summer,  I  am  tempted  to  say,  is 
the  finest  season  of  the  year.  Here  has  been 
such  a  day  as  I  think  Italy  never  sees. 

A  fair  afternoon,  a  celestial  afternoon,  cannot 
occur  but  we  mar  our  pleasure  by  reproaching 
ourselves  that  we  do  not  make  all  our  days 
beautiful.  The  thought  of  what  I  am,  of  my 
pitiful  conduct,  deters  me  from  receiving  what 


182  AUTUMN. 

joy  I  might  from  the  glorious  days  that  visit  me. 
After  the  era  of  youth  is  passed,  the  knowledge 
of  ourselves  is  an  alloy  that  spoils  our  satisfac 
tions.  I  am  wont  to  think  that  I  could  spend 
my  days  contentedly  in  any  retired  country 
house  that  I  see,  for  I  see  it  to  advantage  now 
and  without  incumbrance.  I  have  not  yet  im 
ported  my  humdrum  thoughts,  my  prosaic  hab 
its,  into  it  to  mar  the  landscape.  What  is  this 
beauty  in  the  landscape  but  a  certain  fertility 
in  me?  I  look  in  vain  to  see  it  realized  but 
in  my  own  life.  If  I  could  wholly  cease  to  be 
ashamed  of  myself,  I  think  all  my  days  would 
be  fair. 

Oct.  31,  1853.  P.  M.  By  boat  with  Sophia  to 
my  grapes  laid  down  in  front  of  Fair  Haven.  It 
is  a  beautiful,  warm,  and  calm  Indian-summer 
afternoon,  and  the  river  is  so  high  over  the 
meadows,  the  pads  and  other  low  weeds  so  deeply 
buried,  and  the  water  so  smooth  and  glassy 
withal  that  I  am  reminded  of  a  calm  April  day 
during  the  freshets.  The  coarse  withered  grass, 
and  the  willows  and  button-bushes  with  their 
myriad  balls,  and  whatever  else  stands  on  the 
brink,  is  reflected  with  wonderful  distinctness. 
This  shore  thus  seen  from  the  boat  is  like  the 
ornamented  frame  of  a  mirror.  The  button- 
balls,  etc.,  are  more  distinct  in  the  reflection, 
if  I  remember,  because  they  have  there  for  back- 


AUTUMN.  183 

ground  the  reflected  sky,  but  the  actual  ones 
are  seen  against  the  russet  meadow.  I  even  see 
houses  a  mile  off  reflected  in  the  meadow  flood. 
The  cocks  crow  in  barnyards,  as  if  with  new 
lustiness.  They  seem  to  appreciate  the  day. 
The  river  is  three  feet  and  more  above  the  sum 
mer  level.  I  see  many  pickerel  dart  away  as  I 
push  my  boat  over  the  meadows.  They  lie  up 
there  now.  There  are  already  myriads  of  snow- 
fleas  on  the  water  next  the  shore,  and  on  the 
cranberries  we  pick  in  the  wreck,  as  if  they  were 
peppered.  When  we  ripple  the  surface,  the  un 
dulating  light  is  reflected  from  the  waves  upon 
the  bank  and  bushes  and  withered  grass.  Is 
not  this  already  November,  when  the  yellow  and 
scarlet  tints  are  gone  from  the  forest  ?  It  is  very 
pleasant  to  float  along  over  the  smooth  mea 
dow,  where  every  weed  and  each  stem  of  coarse 
grass  that  rises  above  the  surface  has  another 
answering  to  it,  and  even  more  distinct  in  the 
water  beneath,  making  a  rhyme  to  it,  so  that 
the  most  irregular  form  appears  regular.  A  few 
scattered  dry  and  clean  very  light  straw-col 
ored  grasses  are  a  cheap  and  simple  beauty,  thus 
reflected. 

I  slowly  discover  that  this  is  a  gossamer  day. 
I  first  see  the  fine  lines  stretching  from  one 
weed,  or  grass-stem  or  rush,  to  another,  some 
times  seven  or  eight  feet  distant  horizontally, 


184  AUTUMN. 

and  only  four  or  five  inches  above  the  water. 
When  I  look  further,  I  find  that  they  are  every 
where  and  on  everything,  sometimes  forming 
conspicuous  fine  white  gossamer  webs  on  the 
heads  of  grasses.  They  are  so  abundant  that 
they  seem  to  have  been  suddenly  produced  in  the 
atmosphere  by  some  chemistry,  spun  out  of  air, 
I  know  not  for  what  purpose.  I  remember  that 
in  Kirby  and  Spence  it  is  not  allowed  that  the 
spider  can  walk  on  the  water  to  carry  his  web 
across  from  rush  to  rush,  but  here  I  see  myriads 
of  spiders  on  the  water  making  some  kind  of 
progress,  and  at  least  with  a  line  attached  to 
them.  True,  they  do  not  appear  to  walk  well, 
but  they  stand  up  high  and  dry  on  the  tips  of 
their  toes,  and  are  blown  along  quite  fast.  They 
are  of  various  sizes  and  colors,  though  mostly  a 
greenish  brown  or  else  black,  some  very  small. 
These  gossamer  lines  are  not  visible  unless  be 
tween  you  and  the  sun.  We  pass  some  black 
willows  now,  of  course,  quite  leafless,  and  when 
they  are  between  us  and  the  sun,  they  are  so 
completely  covered  with  these  fine  cobwebs  or 
lines,  mainly  parallel  to  one  another,  that  they 
make  one  solid  roof,  a  misty  roof,  against  the 
sun.  They  are  not  drawn  taut,  but  curved 
downward  in  the  middle,  like  the  rigging  of  a 
vessel,  the  ropes  which  stretch  from  mast  to 
mast,  as  if  the  fleets  of  a  thousand  Lilliputian 


AUTUMN.  185 

nations  were  collected  one  behind  another  under 
bare  poles  ;  but  when  we  have  floated  a  few  feet 
farther,  and  thrown  the  willow  out  of  the  sun's 
range,  not  a  thread  can  be  seen  on  it.  I  landed 
and  walked  up  and  down  the  causeway,  and 
found  it  the  same  there,  the  gossamer  reaching 
across  the  causeway,  though  not  necessarily  sup 
ported  on  the  other  side.  They  streamed  south 
ward  with  the  slight  zephyr,  as  if  the  year  were 
weaving  her  shroud  out  of  light.  There  were 
spiders  on  the  rail  [of  the  causeway]  that  pro 
duced  them,  similar  to  those  on  the  water.  The 
air  appeared  crowded  with  them.  It  was  a  won 
der  they  did  not  get  into  the  mouth  and  nostrils, 
or  that  we  did  not  feel  them  on  our  faces,  or  con 
tinually  going  and  coming  among  them  did  not 
whiten  our  clothes  more.  And  yet  one,  with  his 
back  to  the  sun,  walking  the  other  way,  would 
observe  nothing  of  all  this.  Methinks  it  is  only 
on  these  very  finest  days,  late  in  the  autumn, 
that  the  phenomenon  is  seen,  as  if  that  fine 
vapor  of  the  morning  were  spun  into  these  webs. 
According  to  Kirby  and  Spence,  "  In  Germany 
these  flights  of  gossamer  appear  so  constantly  in 
autumn  that  they  are  there  metaphorically  called 
'  Der  Fliegende  Sommer,'  the  flying  or  depart 
ing  summer."  What  can  possess  these  spiders, 
thus  to  run  all  at  once  to  every  the  least  eleva 
tion,  and  let  off  this  wonderful  stream  ?  Harris 


186  AUTUMN. 

tells  me  he  does  not  know  what  it  means.  Sophia 
thought  that  thus,  at  last,  they  emptied  them 
selves  and  wound  up,  or,  I  suggested,  unwound 
themselves,  cast  off  their  mortal  coil.  It  looks 
like  a  mere  frolic  spending  and  wasting  of  them 
selves,  of  their  vigor,  now  that  there  is  no  further 
use  for  it,  their  July,  perchance,  being  killed  or 
banished  by  the  frost. 

Oct.  31, 1857.  In  the  Lee  farm  swamp,  by  the 
old  Sam  Barrett  mill-site,  I  see  two  kinds  of  ferns 
still  green  and  much  in  fruit,  apparently  the  As- 
pidium  spinulosum  (?)  and  cristatum  (?).  They 
are  also  common  in  the  swamps  now.  They  are 
quite  fresh  in  those  cold  and  wet  places,  and 
almost  flattened  down  now.  The  atmosphere 
of  the  house  is  less  congenial  to  them.  In  the 
summer  you  might  not  have  noticed  them.  Now 
they  are  conspicuous  amid  the  withered  leaves. 
You  are  inclined  to  approach  and  raise  each 
frond  in  succession,  moist,  trembling,  fragile 
greenness.  They  linger  thus  in  all  moist, 
clammy  swamps  under  the  bare  maples  and 
grapevines  and  witch  hazels,  and  about  each 
trickling  spring  that  is  half  choked  with  fallen 
leaves.  What  means  this  persistent  vitality? 
Why  were  these  spared  when  the  brakes  and 
osmundas  were  stricken  down  ?  They  stay  as  if 
to  keep  up  the  spirits  of  the  cold-blooded  frogs 
which  have  not  yet  gone  into  the  mud,  that  the 


AUTUMN.  187 

summer  may  die  with  decent  and  graceful  mod 
eration.  Is  not  the  water  of  the  spring  improved 
by  their  presence  ?  They  fall  back  and  droop 
here  and  there  like  the  plumes  of  departing 
summer,  of  the  departing  year.  Even  in  them 
I  feel  an  argument  for  immortality.  Death  is 
so  far  from  being  universal.  The  same  destroyer 
does  not  destroy  all.  How  valuable  they  are, 
with  the  lycopodiums  for  cheerfulness.  Green 
ness  at  the  end  of  the  year,  after  the  fall  of  the 
leaf,  a  hale  old  age.  To  my  eyes  they  are  tall 
and  noble  as  palm  groves,  and  always  some  for 
est  nobleness  seems  to  have  its  haunt  under  their 
umbrage.  All  that  was  immortal  in  the  swamp 
herbage  seems  here  crowded  into  smaller  com 
pass,  the  concentrated  greenness  of  the  swamp. 
How  dear  they  must  be  to  the  chickadee  and  the 
rabbit !  the  cool,  slowly-retreating  rear-guard 
of  the  swamp  army.  What  virtue  is  theirs  that 
enables  them  to  resist  the  frost?  If  you  are 
afflicted  with  melancholy  at  this  season,  go  to 
the  swamp,  and  see  the  brave  spears  of  skunk- 
cabbage  buds  already  advanced  toward  a  new 
year.  Their  gravestones  are  not  bespoken  yet. 
Who  shall  be  sexton  to  them  ?  Is  it  the  winter 
of  their  discontent  ?  Do  they  seem  to  have  lain 
down  to  die,  despairing  of  skunk-cabbagedom  ? 
Mortal,  human  creatures  must  take  a  little  re 
spite  in  this  fall  of  the  year.  Their  spirits  do 


188  AUTUMN. 

flag  a  little.  There  is  a  little  questioning  of 
destiny,  and  thinking  to  go  like  cowards  to  where 
the  weary  shall  be  at  rest.  But  not  so  with  the 
skunk  cabbage.  Its  withered  leaves  fall  and  are 
transfixed  by  a  rising  bud.  Winter  and  death 
are  ignored.  The  circle  of  life  is  complete.  Are 
these  false  prophets  ?  Is  it  a  lie  or  a  vain  boast 
underneath  the  skunk-cabbage  bud  pushing  it 
upwards  and  lifting  the  dead  leaves  with  it? 
They  rest  with  spears  advanced.  It  is  good  for 
me  to  be  here  slumping  in  the  mud,  a  trap  cov 
ered  with  withered  leaves,  to  see  these  green 
cabbage  buds  lifting  the  dry  leaves  in  this 
watery,  muddy  place.  They  see  over  the  brow 
of  winter's  hill.  They  see  another  summer 
ahead. 

Nov.  1,  1851.  It  is  a  rare  qualification  to 
be  able  to  state  a  fact  simply  and  adequately, 
to  digest  some  experience  clearly,  to  say  "  yes  " 
and  "no"  with  authority,  to  make  a  square 
edge.  A  man  must  see  before  he  can  say. 
Statements  are  made  but  partially.  Things  are 
said  with  reference  to  certain  conventions  or 
institutions,  not  absolutely.  A  fact,  truly  and 
absolutely  stated,  is  taken  out  of  the  region 
of  common  sense,  and  acquires  a  mythologic  or 
universal  significance.  Say  it  and  have  done 
with  it.  Express  it  without  expressing  yourself. 
See  not  with  the  eye  of  science,  which  is  barren, 


AUTUMN.  189 

nor  of  youthful  poetry,  which  is  impotent.  But 
taste  the  world  and  digest  it.  It  would  seem  as 
if  things  got  said  but  rarely  and  by  chance.  As 
you  see,  so  at  length  will  you  say.  When  facts 
are  seen  superficially,  they  are  seen  as  they  lie 
in  relation  to  certain  institutions,  perchance.  I 
would  have  them  expressed  as  more  deeply  seen, 
with  deeper  references,  so  that  the  hearer  or 
reader  cannot  recognize  them  or  apprehend  their 
significance  from  the  platform  of  common  life, 
but  it  will  be  necessary  that  he  be  in  a  sense 
translated  in  order  to  understand  them.  At  first 
blush,  a  man  is  not  capable  of  reporting  truth. 
To  do  that,  he  must  be  drenched  and  saturated 
with  it.  Then  the  truth  will  exhale  from  him 
naturally,  like  the  odor  of  the  muskrat  from  the 
coat  of  the  trapper.  What  was  enthusiasm  in 
the  young  man  must  become  temperament  in 
the  mature  man.  Without  excitement,  heat,  or 
passion  he  will  survey  the  world  which  excited 
the  youth  and  threw  him  off  his  balance. 

This  on  my  way  to  Conantum,  2.30  p.  M.  It 
is  a  bright,  clear,  warm  November  day.  I  feel 
blessed.  I  love  my  life.  I  warm  toward  all 
nature.  The  crickets  now  sound  faintly  and 
from  very  deep  in  the  sod.  Fall  dandelions  look 
bright  still.  The  grass  has  got  a  new  greenness 
in  spots.  At  this  season  there  are  stranger 
sparrows  or  finches  about.  The  skunk  cabbage 


190  AUTUMN. 

is  already  pushing  up  again.  It  is  a  remarkable 
day  for  fine  gossamer  cobwebs.  Here  in  the 
causeway,  as  I  walk  toward  the  sun,  I  perceive 
that  the  air  is  full  of  them,  streaming  from  off 
the  willows  and  spanning  the  road,  all  stretch 
ing  across  the  road,  and  yet  I  cannot  see  them 
in  any  other  direction,  and  feel  not  one. 

It  looks  as  if  the  birds  would  be  incommoded. 
This  shimmer  moving  along  the  gossamer  lines 
as  they  are  moved  by  the  wind,  gives  the  effect 
of  a  drifting  storm  of  light.  It  is  more  like  a 
fine  snowstorm  which  drifts  athwart  your  path 
than  anything  else.  If  there  were  no  sunshine, 
I  should  never  find  out  that  they  existed,  I 
should  not  know  that  I  was  bursting  a  myriad 
barriers.  Why  should  this  day  be  so  distin 
guished  ?  What  is  the  peculiar  condition  of  the 
atmosphere  to  call  forth  this  activity  ? 

The  river  is  peculiarly  sky-blue  to-day,  not 
dark  as  usual.  It  is  all  in  the  air. 

Saw  a  canoe  birch  by  road  beyond  the  Abel 
Minot  house ;  distinguished  it  thirty  rods  off  by 
the  chalky  whiteness  of  its  limbs.  It  is  of  a 
more  unspotted,  transparent,  and  perhaps  pink 
ish  white  than  the  common.  Its  branches  do 
not  droop  and  curl  down  like  those  of  the  other. 
There  will  be  some  loose  curls  of  bark  about  it. 
The  common  birch  is  finely  branched,  and  has 
frequently  a  snarly  head ;  the  canoe  birch  is  a 


AUTUMN.  191 

more  open  and  free-growing  tree.  If  at  a  dis 
tance  you  see  the  birch  near  its  top  forking  into 
two  or  more  white  limbs,  you  may  know  it  for  a 
canoe  birch.  I  have  heard  of  a  man  in  Maine 
who  copied  the  whole  Bible  on  to  birch  bark.. 
It  was  much  easier  than  to  write  that  sentence 
which  the  birch  tree  stands  for. 

Nov.  1,  1852.  Day  before  yesterday  to  the 
Cliffs  in  the  misty  rain.  As  I  approached  their 
edge,  I  saw  the  woods  beneath,  Fair  Haven 
Pond,  and  the  hills  across  the  river,  which  ow 
ing  to  the  mist  was  as  far  as  I  could  see,  and 
seemed  much  farther  in  consequence.  I  saw 
these  between  the  converging  branches  of  two 
white  pines  a  rod  or  two  from  me  on  the  edge 
of  the  rocks,  and  I  thought  there  was  no  frame 
to  a  landscape  equal  to  this,  to  see  between  two 
near  pine  boughs  whose  lichens  are  distinct,  a 
distant  forest  and  lake,  the  one,  frame,  the 
other,  picture. 

In  November  a  man  will  eat  his  heart,  if  in 
any  month. 

It  is  remarkable  how  native  man  proves  him 
self  to  the  earth,  after  all,  and  the  completeness 
of  his  life  in  all  its  appurtenances.  His  alli 
ances  how  wide!  He  has  domesticated  not 
only  beasts,  but  fowl,  not  only  hens  and  geese 
and  ducks  and  turkeys,  but  his  doves  winging 
their  way  to'their  dove-cotes  over  street  and  vil- 


192  AUTUMN. 

lage  enhance  the  picturesqueness  of  his  sky,  to 
say  nothing  of  his  trained  falcons,  his  beautiful 
scouts  in  the  upper  air. 

He  is  lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute.  The 
dove,  the  martin,  the  bluebird,  the  swallow,  and 
in  some  countries,  the  hawk,  have  attached 
themselves  to  his  fortunes. 

Nov.  1,  1853.  Few  come  to  the  woods  to  see 
how  the  pine  lives  and  grows  and  spires,  lifting 
its  evergreen  arms  to  the  light,  to  see  its  perfect 
success.  Most  are  content  to  behold  it  in  the 
shape  of  many  broad  boards  brought  to  market, 
and  deem  that  its  true  success.  The  pine  is  no 
more  lumber  than  man  is,  and  to  be  made  into 
boards  and  houses  is  no  more  its  true  and  high 
est  use  than  the  truest  use  of  a  man  is  to  be  cut 
down  and  made  into  manure.  A  pine  cut  down, 
a  dead  pine,  is  no  more  a  pine  than  a  dead  hu 
man  carcass  is  a  man.  Is  it  the  lumberman  who 
is  the  friend  and  lover  of  the  pine,  stands  near 
est  to  it,  and  understands  its  nature  best  ?  Is  it 
the  tanner  or  turpentine  distiller  who  posterity 
will  fable  was  changed  into  a  pine  at  last  ?  No, 
no,  it  is  the  poet  who  makes  the  truest  use  of 
the  pine,  who  does  not  fondle  it  with  an  axe,  or 
tickle  it  with  a  saw,  or  stroke  it  with  a  plane. 
It  is  the  poet  who  loves  it  as  his  own  shadow  in 
the  air,  and  lets  it  stand.  It  is  as  immortal  as 
I  am,  and  will  go  to  as  high  a  heaven,  there  to 


AUTUMN.  193 

tower  above  me  still.  Can  he  who  has  only  dis 
covered  the  value  of  whale-bone  and  whale-oil 
be  said  to  have  discovered  the  true  uses  of  the 
whale  ?  Can  he  who  slays  the  elephant  for  his 
ivory  be  said  to  have  seen  the  elephant  ?  No, 
these  are  petty  and  accidental  uses.  Just  as  if  a 
stronger  race  were  to  kill  us  in  order  to  make  but 
tons  and  flageolets  of  our  bones,  and  then  prate 
of  the  usefulness  of  man.  Every  creature  is 
better  alive  than  dead,  both  men  and  moose  and 
pine-trees,  as  life  is  more  beautiful  than  death. 

Nov.  1,  1855.  P.  M.  Up  Assabet,  a-wooding. 
As  I  pushed  up  the  river  past  Hildreth's,  I 
saw  a  blue  heron  arise  from  the  shore,  and 
disappear  round  a  bend  in  front ;  the  greatest 
of  the  bitterns  (Ardec&),  with  heavy  undulating 
wings  low  over  the  water,  seen  against  the 
woods,  just  disappearing  round  a  bend  in  front ; 
with  a  great  slate-colored  expanse  of  wing,  suited 
to  the  shadows  of  the  stream,  a  tempered  blue 
as  of  the  sky  and  dark  water  commingled.  This 
is  the  aspect  under  which  the  Musketaquid 
might  be  represented  at  this  season :  a  long, 
smooth  lake,  reflecting  the  bare  willows  and 
button  beeches,  the  stubble,  and  the  wool  grass 
on  its  tussock,  a  muskrat  cabin  or  two  conspicu 
ous  on  its  margin  amid  the  unsightly  tops  of 
pontederia,  and  a  bittern  disappearing  on  undu 
lating  wing  around  a  bend. 


194  AUTUMN. 

Nov.  1,  1857.  I  see  much  witch  hazel,  some 
of  it  quite  fresh  and  bright.  Its  bark  is  alter 
nate  white  and  smooth  reddish-brown,  the  small 
twigs  looking  as  if  gossamer  had  lodged  on  and 
draped  them.  What  a  lively  spray  it  has,  both 
in  form  and  color !  Truly  it  looks  as  if  it  would 
make  divining  rods,  as  if  its  twigs  knew  where 
the  true  gold  was  and  could  point  to  it.  The 
gold  is  in  the  late  blossoms.  Let  them  alone, 
and  they  never  point  down  to  earth.  They  im 
part  to  the  whole  hillside  a  speckled,  parti-col 
ored  look. 

Nov.  1,  1858.  As  the  afternoons  grow  shorter, 
and  the  early  evening  drives  us  home  to  complete 
our  chores,  we  are  reminded  of  the  shortness  of 
life,  and  become  more  pensive  at  least  in  this 
twilight  of  the  year.  We  are  prompted  to  make 
haste  and  finish  our  work  before  the  twilight 
comes.  I  leaned  over  a  rail  on  the  Walden 
road,  waiting  for  the  evening  mail  to  be  distrib 
uted,  when  such  thoughts  visited  me.  I  seemed 
to  remember  the  November  evening  as  a  fa 
miliar  thing  come  round  again,  and  yet  I  could 
hardly  tell  whether  I  had  ever  known  it,  or  only 
divined  it.  It  appeared  like  a  part  of  a  pano 
rama  at  which  I  sat  spectator,  a  part  with  which 
I  was  perfectly  familiar,  just  coming  into  view. 
I  foresaw  how  it  would  look  and  roll  along  and 
was  prepared  to  be  pleased.  Just  such  a  piece 


AUTUMN.  195 

of  art  merely,  infinitely  sweet  and  good,  did  it 
appear  to  me,  and  just  as  little  were  any  active 
duties  required  of  me.  We  are  independent  of 
all  that  we  see.  The  hangman  whom  I  have  seen 
cannot  hang  me.  The  earth  which  I  have  seen 
cannot  bury  me.  Such  doubleness  and  distance 
does  sight  prove.  Only  the  rich  and  such  as  are 
troubled  with  ennui  are  implicated  in  the  maze 
of  phenomena.  You  cannot  see  anything  until 
you  are  clear  of  it.  The  long  railroad  causeway 
through  the  meadows  west  of  me,  the  still  twi 
light,  the  dark  bank  of  clouds  in  the  horizon,  the 
villagers  crowding  to  the  post-office,  and  then 
hastening  home  to  supper  by  candle-light,  had  I 
not  seen  all  this  before  ?  What  new  sweet  was 
I  to  extract  from  it?  Truly  they  mean  that 
we  should  learn  our  lesson  well.  Nature  gets 
thumbed  like  an  old  spelling  book.  Yet  I  sat 
the  bench  with  perfect  contentment,  unwilling  to 
exchange  the  familiar  vision  that  was  to  be  un 
rolled  for  any  treasure  or  heaven  that  could  be 
imagined.  I  was  no  nearer  to  or  farther  off  from 
my  friends.  We  were  sure  to  keep  just  so  far 
apart  in  our  orbits  still,  in  obedience  to  the  laws 
of  attraction  and  repulsion,  affording  each  other 
only  steady,  but  indispensable  starlight.  It  was 
as  if  I  was  promised  the  greatest  novelty  the 
world  has  ever  seen  or  shall  see,  though  the 
utmost  possible  novelty  would  be  the  difference 


196  AUTUMN. 

between  me  and  myself  a  year  ago.  This  alone 
encouraged  me,  and  was  my  fuel  for  the  ap 
proaching  winter.  That  we  may  behold  the  pan 
orama  with  this  slight  improvement  or  change, 
this  is  what  we  sustain  life  for  from  year  to 
year.  And  yet  there  is  no  more  tempting  nov 
elty  than  this  new  November.  No  going  to 
Europe  or  to  another  world  is  to  be  named  with 
it.  Give  me  the  old  familiar  walk,  post-office 
and  all,  with  this  ever  new  self,  with  this  infinite 
expectation  and  faith  which  does  not  know 
when  it  is  beaten.  We  '11  go  nutting  once  more. 
We  '11  pluck  the  nut  of  the  world  and  crack  it 
in  the  winter  evenings.  Theatres  and  all  other 
sight-seeing  are  puppet  shows  in  comparison.  I 
will  take  another  walk  to  the  cliff,  another  row 
on  the  river,  another  skate  on  the  meadow,  be 
out  in  the  first  snow,  and  associate  with  the  win 
ter  birds.  Here  I  am  at  home.  In  the  bare 
and  bleached  crust  of  the  earth,  I  recognize  my 
friend.  One  actual  Frederick  that  you  know  is 
worth  a  million  only  read  of.  Pray,  am  I  alto 
gether  a  bachelor,  or  am  I  a  widower,  that  I 
should  go  away  and  "  leave  my  bride  "  ?  This 
morrow  that  is  ever  knocking  with  irresistible 
force  at  our  door,  there  is  no  such  guest  as  that. 
I  will  stay  at  home  and  receive  company.  I 
want  nothing  new.  If  I  can  have  but  a  tithe  of 
the  old  secured  to  me,  I  will  spurn  all  wealth 


AUTUMN.  197 

besides.  Think  of  the  consummate  folly  of  at 
tempting  to  go  away  from  here.  Here  are  all 
the  friends  I  ever  had  or  shall  have,  and  as 
friendly  as  ever.  Why,  I  never  had  a  quarrel 
with  a  friend,  but  it  was  just  as  sweet  as  unan 
imity  could  be.  I  do  not  think  we  budge  an 
inch  forward  or  backward  in  relation  to  our 
friends.  How  many  things  can  you  go  away 
from  ?  They  see  the  comet  from  the  northwest 
coast  just  as  plainly  as  we  do,  and  the  same 
stars  through  its  tail.  Take  the  shortest  way 
round  and  stay  at  home.  A  man  dwells  in  his 
native  valley  like  a  corolla  in  its  calyx,  like  an 
acorn  in  its  cup.  Here,  of  course,  is  all  that 
you  love,  all  that  you  expect,  all  that  you  are. 
Here  is  your  bride-elect,  as  close  to  you  as  she 
can  be  got.  Here  is  all  the  best  and  the  worst 
you  can  imagine.  What  more  do  you  want  ? 
Foolish  people  think  that  what  they  imagine  is 
somewhere  else.  That  stuff  is  not  made  in  any 
factory  but  their  own. 

JVov.  1,  1860.  A  perfect  Indian  summer 
day,  wonderfully  warm,  72°  +  at  1  P.  M.,  prob 
ably  warmer  at  2.  The  butterflies  are  out 
again.  I  see  the  common  yellow  one,  and  the 
Vanessa  Antiopa,  also  yellow-winged  grasshop 
pers  with  blackish  eyes. 

Nov.  2,  1840.  It  is  well  said  that  the  "  atti 
tude  of  inspection  is  prone."  The  soul  does 


198  AUTUMN. 

not  inspect,  but  behold.  Like  the  lily,  or  the 
crystal,  or  the  rock,  it  looks  in  the  face  of  the 
sky.  Francis  Howell  says  that  in  garrulous 
persons  "  the  supply  of  thought  seems  never 
to  rise  much  above  the  level  of  its  exit."  Con 
sequently  their  thoughts  issue  in  no  jets,  but 
incessantly  dribble.  In  those  who  speak  rarely, 
but  to  the  purpose,  the  reservoir  of  thought  is 
many  feet  higher  than  its  issue.  It  takes  the 
pressure  of  one  hundred  atmospheres  to  make 
one  jet  of  eloquence. 

Nov.  2,  1851.  Saw  a  canoe  birch  beyond 
Nawshawtuck,  growing  out  of  the  middle  of  a 
white-pine  stump  which  still  showed  the  marks 
of  the  axe ;  sixteen  inches  in  diameter  at  its 
bottom,  or  at  two  feet  from  the  ground  where 
it  had  first  taken  root  in  the  stump. 

Nov.  2,  1852.  Tall  buttercups,  red  clover, 
houstonias,  Polygonum  aviculare,  still.  The 
month  of  chickadees  and  new  swollen  buds.  At 
long  intervals  I  see  or  hear  a  robin  still. 

Nov.  2,  1853.  The  beech  leaves  have  all 
fallen  except  some  about  the  lower  part  of  the 
trees,  and  they  make  a  fine  thick  bed  on  the 
ground.  They  are  very  beautiful,  fine  and  per 
fect  leaves,  unspotted,  not  eaten  by  insects,  of  a 
handsome,  clear  leather  color,  like  a  book  bound 
in  calf,  crisp  and  elastic.  They  cover  the  ground 
so  perfectly  and  cleanly  as  to  tempt  you  to 


AUTUMN.  199 

recline  on  it,  and  admire  the  beauty  of  the 
smooth  boles  from  that  position,  covered  with 
lichens  of  various  colors,  green,  etc.  They  im 
press  you  as  full  of  health  and  vigor,  so  that 
their  bark  can  hardly  contain  their  spirits,  but 
lies  in  folds  or  wrinkles  about  their  ankles  like 
a  sack,  with  the  embonpoint,  wrinkles  of  fat,  of 
infancy. 

Nov.  2,  1854.  P.  M.  By  boat  to  Clamshell. 
I  see  larks  hovering  over  the  meadow,  and  hear  a 
faint  note  or  two,  and  a  pleasant  note  from  tree 
sparrows  (?).  Sailing  past  the  bank  above  the 
railroad,  close  to  the  shore  on  the  east  side,  just 
before  a  clear  sunset,  I  see  a  fainter  shadow  of 
the  boat,  sail,  myself,  paddle,  etc.,  directly  above 
and  upon  the  first,  on  the  bank.  What  makes 
the  second  ?  I  at  length  discovered  that  it  was 
the  reflected  sun  which  cast  a  higher  shadow 
like  the  true  one.  As  I  moved  to  the  west  side, 
the  upper  shadow  grew  larger  and  less  percep 
tible,  and  at  last  when  I  was  so  near  the  west 
shore  that  I  could  not  see  the  reflected  sun,  it 
disappeared,  but  then  there  appeared  one  upside 
down  in  its  place  ! 

Nov.  2,  1857.  P.  M.  To  Bateman's  Pond. 
It  is  very  pleasant  and  cheerful  nowadays, 
when  the  brown  and  withered  leaves  strew  the 
ground  and  almost  every  plant  is  fallen  or 
withered,  to  come  upon  a  patch  of  polypody  (as 


200  AUTUMN. 

in  abundance  on  hillside  between  Calla  swamp 
and  Bateman's  Pond)  on  some  rocky  hillside 
in  the  woods,  where  in  the  midst  of  dry  and 
rustling  leaves,  defying  frost,  it  stands  so  freshly 
green  and  full  of  life.  The  mere  greenness, 
which  was  not  remarkable  in  the  summer,  is  pos 
itively  interesting  now.  My  thoughts  are  with 
the  polypody  a  long  time  after  my  body  has 
passed.  The  brakes,  the  sarsaparilla,  the  os- 
mundas,  the  Solomon's-seals,  the  lady's-slippers, 
etc.,  have  long  since  withered  and  fallen.  The 
huckleberries  and  blueberries,  too,  have  lost 
their  leaves.  The  forest  floor  is  covered  with  a 
thick  coat  of  moist  brown  leaves,  but  what  is 
that  perennial  and  spring-like  verdure  that 
clothes  the  rocks,  of  small  green  plumes  point 
ing  various  ways  ?  It  is  the  cheerful  community 
of  the  polypody.  It  survives  at  least  as  the 
type  of  vegetation,  to  remind  us  of  the  spring 
which  shall  not  fail.  These  are  the  green  pas 
tures  where  I  browse  now.  Why  is  not  this 
form  copied  by  our  sculptors  instead  of  the 
foreign  acanthus  leaves  and  bays  ?  How  fit  for 
a  tuft  about  the  base  of  a  column !  The  sight 
of  this  unwithering  green  leaf  excites  me  like 
red  at  some  seasons.  Are  not  wood-frogs  the 
philosophers  who  frequent  these  groves?  Me- 
thinks  I  imbibe  a  cool,  composed,  frog-like  phi 
losophy  when  I  behold  them.  The  form  of  the 


AUTUMN.  201 

polypody  is  strangely  interesting,  it  is  even  out 
landish.  Some  forms,  though  common  in  our 
midst,  are  thus  perennially  foreign  as  the  growth 
of  other  latitudes.  We  all  feel  the  ferns  to  be 
further  from  us  essentially  and  sympathetically 
than  the  pha3nogamous  plants,  the  roses  and 
weeds,  for  instance.  It  needs  no  geology  nor 
botany  to  assure  us  of  that.  The  bare  outline 
of  the  polypody  thrills  me  strangely.  It  only 
perplexes  me.  Simple  as  it  is,  it  is  as  strange 
as  an  oriental  character.  It  is  quite  indepen 
dent  of  my  race  and  of  the  Indian,  and  of  all 
mankind.  It  is  a  fabulous,  mythological  form, 
such  as  prevailed  when  the  earth  and  air  and 
water  were  inhabited  by  those  extinct  fossil 
creatures  that  we  find.  It  is  contemporary 
with  them,  and  affects  us  somewhat  as  the 
sight  of  them  might  do.  Crossed  over  that  high, 
flat-backed,  rocky  hill,  where  the  rocks,  as  usual 
thereabouts,  stand  on  their  edges,  and  the  grain, 
running  by  compass  east-northeast  and  west- 
southwest,  is  frequently  kinked  up  in  a  curi 
ous  manner,  reminding  me  of  a  curly  head. 
Call  the  hill  Curly-pate. 

Eeturning  I  see  the  red  oak  on  R.  W.  E.'s 
shore  reflected  in  the  bright  sky  crater.  In  the 
reflection,  the  tree  is  black  against  the  clear 
whitish  sky,  though  as  I  see  it  against  the  oppo 
site  woods,  it  is  a  warm  greenish  yellow.  But 


202  AUTUMN. 

the  river  sees  it  against  the  bright  sky  and 
hence  the  reflection  is  like  ink.  The  water  tells 
me  how  it  looks  to  it,  seen  from  below. 

I  think  that  most  men,  as  farmers,  hunters, 
fishers,  etc.,  walk  along  a  river  bank,  or  paddle 
along  its  stream  without  seeing  the  reflections. 
Their  minds  are  not  enough  abstracted  from  the 
surface,  from  surfaces  generally.  It  is  only  a 
reflecting  mind  that  sees  reflections.  I  am 
aware  often  that  I  have  been  occupied  with  shal 
low  and  commonplace  thoughts,  looking  for 
something  superficial,  when  I  did  not  see  the 
most  glorious  reflections,  though  exactly  in  the 
line  of  my  vision.  If  the  fisherman  were  look 
ing  at  the  reflection,  he  would  not  know  when 
he  had  a  nibble.  I  know  from  my  own  expe 
rience  that  he  may  cast  his  line  right  over  the 
most  elysian  landscape  and  sky,  and  not  catch 
the  slightest  notion  of  them.  You  must  be  in 
an  abstract  mood  to  see  reflections,  however  dis 
tinct.  I  was  even  startled  by  the  sight  of  that 
reflected  red  oak,  as  if  it  were  a  black  water- 
spirit.  When  we  are  enough  abstracted,  the 
opaque  earth  itself  reflects  images  to  us,  that  is, 
we  are  imaginative,  see  visions. 

Nov.  3,  1839.  If  one  would  reflect,  let  him 
embark  on  some  placid  stream,  and  float  with 
the  current.  He  cannot  resist  the  muse.  As 
we  ascend  the  stream,  plying  the  paddle  with 


AUTUMN.  203 

might  and  main,  snatched  and  impetuous 
thoughts  course  through  the  brain.  We  dream 
of  conflict,  power  and  grandeur ;  but  turn  the 
prow  down  stream,  and  rock,  tree,  kine,  knoll, 
assuming  new  and  varying  positions,  as  wind 
and  water  shift  the  scene,  favor  the  liquid  lapse 
of  thought,  far-reaching  and  sublime,  but  ever 
calm  and  gently  undulating. 

Nov.  3,  1840.  The  truth  is  only  contained, 
never  withheld,  as  a  feudal  castle  may  be  the 
headquarters  of  hospitality,  though  the  portal 
is  but  a  span  in  the  circuit  of  the  wall.  So  of 
the  three  envelopes  of  the  cocoanut,  one  is  al 
ways  so  soft  that  it  may  be  pierced  with  a  thorn, 
and  the  traveler  is  grateful  for  the  thick  shell 
which  held  the  liquor  so  faithfully. 

Nov.  3,  1853.  I  make  it  my  business  to  ex 
tract  from  Nature  whatever  nutriment  she  can 
furnish  .me,  though  at  the  risk  of  endless  itera 
tion.  I  milk  the  sky  and  the  earth. 

A  man  of  many  ideas  and  associations  must 
pine  in  the  woods.  At  the  extreme  north,  the 
voyagers  have  to  dance  and  act  plays  for  employ 
ment.  There  is  not  enough  of  the  garden  in 
the  wilderness,  though  I  love  to  see  a  man  some 
times  from  whom  the  usnea  will  hang  as  natur 
ally  as  from  a  spruce.  Our  woods  and  fields  are 
the  perfection  of  parks  and  groves,  and  gardens 
and  grottoes  and  arbors,  and  paths  and  parterres, 


204  AUTUMN. 

and  vistas  and  landscapes.  They  are  the  natu 
ral  consequence  of  what  art  and  refinement  we 
as  a  people  have.  They  are  the  common  which 
each  village  possesses,  the  true  paradise,  in 
comparison  with  which  all  elaborately  and  will 
fully  wealth-constructed  parks  and  gardens  are 
paltry  imitations.  No  other  creature  effects 
such  changes  in  nature  as  man.  He  changes  by 
his  presence  the  nature  of  the  very  trees.  The 
poet's  is  not  a  logger's  path,  but  a  woodman's. 
The  pioneer  and  logger  have  preceded  him,  and 
banished  decaying  wood  and  the  spongy  mosses 
which  feed  on  it,  and  built  hearths,  and  human 
ized  nature  for  him. 

Nov.  3,  1857.  As  I  return  from  the  Boulder 
Field,  I  see,  between  two  of  the  boulders  which 
are  a  dozen  rods  from  me,  a  dozen  feet  high  and 
nearly  as  much  apart,  the  now  winter-colored  — 
that  is,  reddish  (of  oak  leaves)  —  horizon  of 
hills  with  its  few  white  houses,  four  or  five  miles 
distant  southward,  as  a  landscape  within  the 
frame  of  a  picture.  But  what  a  picture-frame  ! 
These  two  great  slumbering  masses  of  rock,  re 
posing  like  a  pair  of  mastodons  on  the  surface  of 
the  pasture,  completely  shutting  out  a  mile  of  the 
horizon  on  each  side,  while  between  their  adja 
cent  sides,  which  are  nearly  perpendicular,  I 
look  to  the  now  purified,  dry,  reddish,  leafy  hori 
zon,  with  a  faint  tinge  of  blue  from  the  distance. 


AUTUMN.  205 

To  see  a  remote  landscape  between  two  near 
rocks  !.  I  want  no  other  gilding  to  my  picture 
frame.  There  they  lie  as  perchance  they  tum 
bled  and  split  from  off  an  iceberg.  What 
better  frame  would  you  have  ?  The  globe  itself, 
here  named  pasture,  for  ground  and  foreground, 
two  great  boulders  for  the  sides  of  the  frame, 
and  the  sky  itself  for  the  top.  And  for  artist 
and  subject,  God  and  Nature  !  Such  pictures 
cost  nothing  but  eyes,  and  it  will  not  bankrupt 
me  to  own  them.  They  were  not  stolen  by 
any  conqueror  as  spoils  of  war,  and  none  can 
doubt  but  they  are  really  the  works  of  an  old 
master.  What  more,  pray,  will  you  see  between 
any  two  slips  of  gilded  wood  in  that  pasture  you 
call  Europe  and  browse  in  sometimes?  It  is 
singular  that  several  of  these  rocks  should  be 
thus  split  into  twins.  Even  very  low  ones,  just 
appearing  above  the  surface,  are  divided  and 
parallel,  having  a  path  between  them. 

Nov.  3, 1858.  The  jay  is  the  bird  of  October. 
I  have  seen  it  repeatedly  flitting  amid  the  bright 
leaves,  of  a  different  color  from  them  all,  and 
equally  bright,  taking  its  flight  from  grove  to 
grove.  It,  too,  with  its  bright  color,  stands  for 
some  ripeness  in  the  bird  harvest ;  and  its 
scream !  it  is  as  if  it  blew  on  the  edge  of  an 
October  leaf.  It  is  never  more  in  its  element 
and  at  home  than  when  flitting  amid  these  bril- 


206  AUTUMN. 

liant  colors.  No  doubt  it  delights  in  bright 
color,  and  so  has  begged  for  itself  a  brilliant 
coat.  It  is  not  gathering  seeds  from  the  sod, 
too  busy  to  look  around,  while  fleeing  the  coun 
try.  It  is  wide  awake  to  what  is  going  on,  on 
the  qui  vive.  It  flies  to  some  bright  tree  and 
bruits  its  splendors  abroad. 

At  base  of  Anursnack  I  find  one  or  two 
fringed  gentians  yet  open,  but  even  the  stems 
are  generally  killed. 

How  long  we  follow  an  illusion  !  On  meeting 
that  one  whom  I  call  my  friend,  I  find  that  I 
had  imagined  something  that  was  not  there.  I 
am  sure  to  depart  sadder  than  I  came.  Nothing 
makes  me  so  dejected  as  to  have  met  my  friends, 
for  they  make  me  doubt  if  it  is  possible  to  have 
any  friends.  I  feel  what  a  fool  I  am.  I  cannot 
conceive  of  persons  more  strange  to  me  than 
they  actually  are ;  not  thinking,  not  believing, 
not  doing  as  I  do ;  interrupted  by  me.  My  only 
distinction  must  be  that  I  am  the  greatest  bore 
they  ever  had.  Not  in  a  single  thought  agreed, 
regularly  balking  one  another.  But  when  I  get 
far  away,  my  thoughts  return  to  them.  That  is 
the  way  I  can  visit  them.  Perhaps  it  is  unac 
countable  to  me  why  I  care  for  them.  Thus  I 
am  taught  that  my  friend  is  not  an  actual  per 
son.  When  I  have  withdrawn  and  am  alone,  I 
forget  the  actual  person,  and  remember  only  my 


AUTUMN.  207 

ideal.  Then  I  have  a  friend  again.  I  am  not 
so  ready  to  perceive  the  illusion  that  is  in  Nature. 
I  certainly  come  nearer,  to  say  the  least,  to  an 
actual  and  joyful  intercourse  with  her.  Every 
day  I  have  more  or  less  communion  with  her, 
as  I  think.  At  least,  I  do  not  feel  as  if  I 
must  withdraw  out  of  nature.  I  feel  like  a  wel 
come  guest.  Yet,  strictly  speaking,  the  same 
must  be  true  of  nature  and  of  man ;  our  ideal 
is  the  only  real.  It  is  not  the  finite  and  tem 
poral  that  satisfies  or  concerns  us  in  either 
case. 

I  associate  the  idea  of  friendship,  methinks, 
with  the  person  the  most  foreign  to  me.  This 
illusion  is  perpetuated  like  superstition  in  a 
country  long  after  civilization  has  been  reached. 
We  are  attracted  toward  a  particular  person,  but 
no  one  has  discovered  the  laws  of  this  attraction. 
When  I  come  nearest  to  that  one  actually,  I  am 
wont  to  be  surprised  at  my  selection.  It  may 
be  enough  that  we  have  met  some  time,  and  now 
can  never  forget  it.  Some  time  or  other  we 
paid  each  other  this  wonderful  compliment, 
looked  largely,  humanely,  divinely  on  one  an 
other,  and  now  are  fated  to  be  acquaintances 
forever.  In  the  case  of  nature,  I  am  not  so  con 
scious  of  this  unsatisfied  yearning. 

Nov.  3,  1861.  After  a  violent  easterly  storm 
in  the  night,  which  clears  at  noon,  I  notice  that 


208  AUTUMN. 

the  surface  of  the  railroad  causeway  composed  of 
gravel  is  singularly  marked,  as  if  stratified,  like 
some  slate  rocks  on  their  edges,  so  that  I  can 
tell  within  a  small  fraction  of  a  degree  from 
what  quarter  the  rain  came.  These  lines,  as  it 
were  of  stratification,  are  perfectly  paraUel  and 
straight  as  a  ruler  diagonally  across  the  flat  sur 
face  of  the  causeway  for  its  whole  length.  Be 
hind  each  little  pebble,  as  a  protecting  boulder 
one  eighth  or  one  tenth  of  an  inch  in  diameter, 
extends  northwest  a  ridge  of  sand,  an  inch  or 
more,  which  it  has  protected  from  being  washed 
away,  while  the  heavy  drops  driven  almost  hori 
zontally  have  washed  out  a  furrow  on  each  side, 
and  on  all  sides  are  these  ridges,  half  an  inch 
apart  and  perfectly  paraUel.  All  this  is  per 
fectly  distinct  to  an  observant  eye,  and  yet  could 
easily  pass  unnoticed  by  most.  Thus  each  wind 
is  self-registering. 

Nov.  4,  1840.  By  your  few  words,  show  how 
insufficient  would  be  many  words.  If,  after 
conversation,  I  would  reinstate  my  thought  in  its 
primary  dignity  and  authority,  I  have  recourse 
again  to  my  first  simple  and  concise  statement. 
In  breadth  we  may  be  patterns  of  conciseness, 
but  in  depth  we  may  well  be  prolix. 

Dr.  Ware,  Jr.,  said  to-day  in  his  speech  at 
the  meeting-house,  "  There  are  these  three,  sym 
pathy,  faith,  patience ;  "  then  proceeding  in  true 


AUTUMN.  209 

ministerial  style,  "  and  the  greatest  of  these  is," 
but  for  a  moment  he  was  at  a  loss,  and  became 
a  listener  along  with  his  audience,  and  concluded 
with,  "  Which  is  it  ?  I  don't  know,  pray  take 
them  all,  brethren,  and  God  help  you." 

Nov.  4,  1851.  To  Saw  Mill  Brook  by  turn 
pike,  returning  by  Walden.  It  was  quite  a  dis 
covery  when  I  first  came  upon  this  brawling 
mountain  stream  in  Concord  woods,  for  some 
fifty  or  sixty  rods  of  its  course  as  much  ob 
structed  by  rocks,  rocks  out  of  all  proportion  to 
its  tiny  stream,  as  a  brook  can  well  be  ;  and  the 
rocks  are  bared  throughout  the  wood  on  either 
side,  as  if  a  torrent  had  anciently  swept  through 
here,  so  unlike  the  after  character  of  the  stream. 
Who  would  have  thought  that  in  tracing  it  up 
from  where  it  empties  into  the  larger  Mill  Brook 
in  the  open  peat  meadows,  it  would  conduct  him 
to  such  a  headlong  and  impetuous  youth.  Per 
chance  it  should  be  called  a  "  force."  It  sug 
gests  what  various  moods  may  attach  to  the  same 
character.  Ah,  if  I  but  knew  that  some  minds, 
which  flow  so  muddily  in  the  lowland  portion  of 
their  course,  where  they  cross  the  highways, 
tumbled  thus  impetuously  and  musically,  mixing 
themselves  with  the  air  in  foam,  but  a  little  way 
back  in  the  woods !  that  these  dark  and  muddy 
pools  where  only  the  pout  and  the  leech  are  to 
be  found,  issued  from  pure  trout  streams  higher 


210  AUTUMN. 

up !  that  the  man's  thoughts  ever  flowed  as 
sparkling  mountain  water,  that  trout  there  loved 
to  glance  through  his  dimples,  where  the  witch- 
hazel  hangs  over  his  stream!  This  stream  is 
here  sometimes  quite  lost  amid  the  rocks,  which 
appear  as  if  they  had  been  arched  over  it,  but 
which  it  in  fact  has  undermined  and  found  its 
way  beneath,  and  they  have  merely  fallen  arch 
wise,  as  they  were  undermined.  It  is  truly  a 
raw  and  gusty  day,  and  I  hear  a  tree  creak 
sharply  like  a  bird,  a  phoebe.  The  hypericums 
stand  red  or  lake  over  the  brook.  The  jays  with 
their  scream  are  at  home  in  the  scenery.  I  see 
where  trees  have  spread  themselves  over  the 
rocks  in  a  scanty  covering  of  soil,  been  under 
mined  by  the  brook,  then  blown  over,  and,  as  they 
fell,  lifted  and  carried  with  them  all  the  soil, 
together  with  considerable  rocks.  So  from  time 
to  time  by  these  natural  levers  rocks  are  re 
moved  from  the  middle  of  the  stream  to  the 
shore.  The  slender  chestnuts,  maples,  elms, 
and  white  ash  trees,  which  last  are  uncommonly 
numerous  here,  are  now  all  bare  of  leaves,  and  a 
few  small  hemlocks,  with  their  now  thin  but 
unmixed  and  fresh  green  foliage,  stand  over  and 
cheer  the  stream,  and  remind  me  of  winter,  the 
snows  which  are  to  come  and  drape  them  and 
contrast  with  their  green,  and  the  chickadees 
that  are  to  flit  and  lisp  amid  them.  Ah,  the 


AUTUMN.  211 

beautiful  tree,  the  hemlock,  with  its  green  can 
opy,  under  which  little  grows,  not  exciting  the 
cupidity  of  the  carpenter,  whose  use  most  men 
have  not  discovered.  I  know  of  some  memora 
ble  ones  worth  walking  many  miles  to  see.  These 
little  cheerful  hemlocks,  the  lisp  of  chickadees 
seems  to  come  from  them  now,  each  standing 
with  its  foot  on  the  very  edge  of  the  stream, 
reaching  sometimes  part  way  over  its  channel, 
and  here  and  there  one  has  lightly  stepped 
across.  These  evergreens  are  plainly  as  much 
for  shelter  for  the  birds  as  for  anything  else. 
The  fallen  leaves  are  so  thick  they  almost  fill 
the  bed  of  the  stream  and  choke  it.  I  hear  the 
runnel  gurgling  under  ground.  As  if  the  busy 
rill  had  ever  tossed  these  rocks  about !  these 
storied  rocks  with  their  fine  lichens  and  some 
times  red  stains  as  of  Indian  blood  on  them. 
There  are  a  few  bright  ferns  lying  flat  by  the 
sides  of  the  brook,  but  it  is  cold,  cold,  withering 
to  all  else.  A  whitish  lichen  on  the  witch-hazel 
rings  it  here.  I  glimpse  the  frizzled  tail  of  a 
red  squirrel  with  a  chestnut  in  its  mouth,  on  a 
white  pine. 

The  ants  appear  to  be  gone  into  winter  quar 
ters.  Here  are  two  bushels  of  fine  gravel,  piled 
up  in  a  cone,  overpowering  the  grass,  which 
tells  of  a  corresponding  cavity. 

Nov.  4,  1852.     Autumnal  dandelion  and  yar- 


212  AUTUMN. 

row.  Must  be  out  of  doors  enough  to  get  ex 
perience  of  wholesome  reality,  as  a  ballast  to 
thought  and  sentiment.  Health  requires  this 
relaxation,  this  aimless  life,  this  life  in  the 
present.  Let  a  man  have  thought  what  he  will 
of  Nature  in  the  house,  she  will  still  be  novel 
out-doors.  I  keep  out  of  doors  for  the  sake  of 
the  mineral,  vegetable,  and  animal  in  me. 

How  precious  a  fine  day  early  in  the  spring ; 
less  so  in  the  fall,  less  still  in  the  summer  and 
winter. 

My  thought  is  a  part  of  the  meaning  of  the 
world,  and  hence  I  use  a  part  of  the  world  as  a 
symbol  to  express  my  thought. 

Nov.  4,  1855.  It  takes  a  savage  or  wild 
taste  to  appreciate  a  wild  apple.  I  remember 
two  old  maids  to  whose  house  I  enjoyed  carry 
ing  a  purchaser  to  talk  about  buying  their 
farm  in  the  winter,  because  they  offered  us  wild 
apples,  though  with  an  unnecessary  apology  for 
their  wildness. 

Nov.  4,  1857.  To  Pine  Hill  via  Spanish 
Brook.  I  leave  the  railroad  at  Walden  Cross 
ing,  and  follow  the  path  to  Spanish  Brook. 
How  swift  Nature  is  to  repair  the  damage  that 
man  does  !  When  he  has  cut  down  a  tree,  and 
left  only  a  white-topped  and  bleeding  stump,  she 
comes  at  once  to  the  rescue  with  her  chemistry, 
and  covers  it  decently  with  a  first  coat  of  gray, 


AUTUMN.  213 

and  in  course  of  time  she  adds  a  thick  coat  of 
green-cup  and  bright  coxcomb  lichens,  and  it 
becomes  an  object  of  new  interest  to  the  lover 
of  nature !  Suppose  it  were  always  to  remain 
a  raw  stump  instead !  It  becomes  a  shelf  on 
which  this  humble  vegetation  spreads  and  dis 
plays  itself,  and  we  forget  the  death  of  the 
larger  in  the  life  of  the  less. 

I  see  in  the  path  some  rank  thimble-berry 
shoots  covered  very  thickly  with  their  peculiar 
hoary  bloom.  It  is  only  rubbed  off  in  a  few 
places  down  to  the  purple  skin,  by  some  passing 
hunter  perchance.  It  is  a  very  singular  and 
delicate  outer  coat  surely  for  a  plant  to  wear. 
I  find  that  I  can  write  my  name  on  it  with  a 
pointed  stick  very  distinctly,  each  stroke,  however 
fine,  going  down  to  the  purple.  It  is  a  new  kind 
of  enameled  card.  What  is  this  bloom  and  what 
purpose  does  it  serve  ?  Is  there  anything  anal 
ogous  in  animated  nature?  It  is  the  coup  de 
grace,  the  last  touch  and  perfection  of  any  work, 
a  thin  elysian  veil  cast  over  it,  through  which 
it  may  be  viewed.  It  is  breathed  on  it  by  the 
artist,  and  thereafter  his  work  is  not  to  be 
touched  without  injury.  It  is  the  evidence  of  a 
ripe  and  completed  work  on  which  the  unex 
hausted  artist  has  breathed  out  of  his  super 
fluous  genius.  If  it  is  a  poem,  it  must  be  in 
vested  with  a  similar  bloom  by  the  imagination 


214  AUTUMN. 

of  the  reader.  It  is  the  subsidence  of  superflu 
ous  ripeness,  like  a  fruit  preserved  in  its  own 
sugar.  It  is  the  handle  by  which  the  imagi 
nation  grasps  it. 

I  climb  Pine  Hill  just  as  the  sun  is  setting 
this  cool  evening.  As  I  sit  with  my  back  to  a 
thick  oak  sprout  whose  leaves  still  glow  with 
life,  Walden  lies,  an  oblong  figure,  below,  end 
wise  toward  me.  Its  surface  is  slightly  rippled, 
and  dusky  prolonged  reflections  extend  wholly 
across  its  length,  or  half  a  mile.  (I  sit  high.) 
The  sun  is  once  or  twice  its  diameter  above  the 
horizon,  and  the  mountains  north  of  it  stand  out 
grand  and  distinct,  a  decided  purple.  But  when 
I  look  critically,  I  distinguish  a  whitish  mist 
(such  is  the  color  of  the  denser  air)  about  their 
lower  parts,  while  their  tops  are  dark  blue.  (So 
the  mountains  have  their  bloom,  and  is  not  the 
bloom  on  fruits  equivalent  to  that  blue  veil  of 
air  which  distance  gives  to  many  objects  ?)  I 
see  one  glistening  reflection  on  the  dusky  and 
leafy  northwestern  earth,  seven  or  eight  miles 
off,  betraying  a  window  there,  though  no  house 
can  be  seen.  It  twinkles  incessantly  as  from  a 
waving  surface,  owing  probably  to  the  undula 
tion  of  the  air.  Now  that  the  sun  is  actually 
setting,  the  mountains  are  dark  blue  from  top  to 
bottom.  As  usual,  a  small  cloud  attends  the 
sun  to  the  portals  of  the  day,  and  reflects  his 


AUTUMN.  215 

brightness  to  us  now  that  he  is  gone.  But  those 
grand  and  glorious  mountains,  how  impossible  to 
remember  daily  that  they  are  there,  and  to  live 
accordingly.  They  are  meant  to  be  a  perpetual 
reminder  to  us,  pointing  out  the  way. 

Nov.  4,  1858.  On  the  1st,  when  I  stood  on 
Poplar  Hill,  I  saw  a  man  far  off  by  the  edge  of 
the  river,  splitting  billets  off  a  stump.  Suspect 
ing  who  it  was,  I  took  out  my  glass,  and  beheld 
Goodwin,  the  one-eyed  Ajax,  in  his  short  blue 
frock,  short  and  square-bodied,  as  broad  as  for 
his  height  he  can  afford  to  be,  getting  his  win 
ter's  wood,  for  this  is  one  of  the  phenomena  of 
the  season.  As  surely  as  the  ants  which  he  dis 
turbs  go  into  winter  quarters  in  the  stump  when 
the  weather  becomes  cool,  so  does  Goodwin  re 
visit  the  stumpy  shores  with  his  axe.  As  usual, 
his  powder  flask  peeped  out  from  a  pocket  on 
his  breast,  and  his  gun  was  slanted  over  a  stump 
near  by,  and  his  boat  lay  a  little  farther  along. 
He  had  been  at  work  laying  wall  still  farther 
off,  and  now,  near  the  end  of  the  day,  he  took 
himself  to  those  pursuits  which  he  loved  better 
still.  It  would  be  no  amusement  to  me  to  see  a 
gentleman  buy  his  winter  wood.  It  is,  to  see 
Goodwin  get  his.  I  helped  him  tip  over  a  stump 
or  two.  He  said  the  owner  of  the  land  had 
given  him  leave  to  get  them  out,  but  it  seemed 
to  me  a  condescension  for  him  to  ask  any  man's 


216  AUTUMN. 

leave  to  grub  up  these  stumps.  The  stumps  to 
those  who  can  use  them,  I  say,  to  those  who  will 
split  them.  He  might  as  well  ask  leave  of  the 
farmer  to  shoot  the  musquash  and  the  meadow 
hen.  I  might  as  well  ask  leave  to  look  at  the 
landscape.  Near  by  were  large  hollows  in  the 
ground,  now  grassed  over,  where  he  had  got  out 
white-oak  stumps  in  previous  years.  But  strange 
to  say,  the  town  does  not  like  to  have  him  get 
his  fuel  in  this  way.  They  would  rather  the 
stumps  should  rot  in  the  ground,  or  be  floated 
down  stream  to  the  sea.  They  have,  almost 
without  dissent,  agreed  on  a  different  mode  of 
living,  with  their  division  of  labor.  They  would 
have  him  stick  to  laying  wall,  and  buy  corded 
wood  for  fuel  as  they  do.  He  has  drawn  up  an 
old  bridge  sleeper,  and  cut  his  name  on  it  for 
security,  and  now  he  gets  into  his  boat  and 
pushes  off,  saying  he  will  go  and  see  what  Mr. 
Musquash  is  about. 

Nov.  5,  1839.  ^Eschylus.  There  was  one 
man  who  lived  his  own  healthy  Attic  life  in 
those  days.  His  words  that  have  come  down  to 
us  give  evidence  that  their  speaker  was  a  seer  in 
his  day  and  generation.  At  this  day  they  owe 
nothing  to  their  dramatic  form,  nothing  to  stage 
machinery  and  the  fact  that  they  were  spoken 
under  these  or  those  circumstances.  All  dis 
play  of  art  for  the  gratification  of  a  factitious 


AUTUMN.  217 

taste,  is  silently  passed  by  to  come  at  the  least 
particle  of  absolute  and  genuine  thought  they 
contain.  The  reader  will  be  disappointed,  how 
ever,  who  looks  for  traits  of  a  rare  wisdom  or 
eloquence,  and  will  have  to  solace  himself,  for 
the  most  part,  with  the  poet's  humanity,  and 
what  it  was  in  him  to  say.  He  will  discover 
that,  like  every  genius,  he  was  a  solitary  liver 
and  worker  in  his  day. 

We  are  accustomed  to  say  that  the  common- 
sense  of  this  age  belonged  to  the  seer  of  the  last, 
as  if  time  gave  us  any  vantage  ground.  But  not 
so ;  I  see  not  but  genius  must  ever  take  an  equal 
start.  .  .  .  Common-sense  is  not  so  familiar  with 
any  truth,  but  genius  will  represent  that  truth 
in  a  strange  light  to  it.  Let  the  seer  bring  his 
broad  eye  down  to  the  most  stale  and  trivial 
fact,  and  he  will  make  you  believe  it  a  new 
planet  in  the  sky. 

We  are  not  apt  to  remember  that  we  grow. 
It  is  curious  to  reflect  how  the  maiden  waits 
patiently  and  confidingly  as  the  tender  houstonia 
of  the  meadow  for  the  slowly  revolving  years  to 
work  their  will  with  her,  to  perfect  and  ripen 
her,  like  it  to  be  fanned  by  the  wind,  watered  by 
the  rain,  shined  on  by  the  sun,  as  if  she,  too, 
were  a  plant  drawing  in  sustenance  by  a  thou 
sand  roots  and  fibres.  These  young  buds  of 
mankind  in  the  street  are  like  buttercups  in  the 
meadows,  surrendered  to  nature  as  they. 


218  AUTUMN. 

Nov.  5,  1840.  Truth  is  as  vivacious,  and  will 
spread  itself  as  fast,  as  the  fungi,  which  you  can 
by  no  means  annihilate  with  your  heel,  for  their 
sporules  are  so  infinitely  numerous  and  subtle  as 
to  resemble  "  thin  smoke,  so  light  that  they  may 
be  raised  into  an  atmosphere,  and  dispersed  in  so 
many  ways  by  the  attraction  of  the  sun,  by  in 
sects,  wind,  elasticity,  adhesion,  etc. ;  that  it  is 
difficult  to  conceive  a  place  from  which  they  may 
be  excluded." 

Nov.  5,  1853.  Most  of  the  muskrat  cabins 
were  lately  covered  by  the  flood,  but  now  that  it 
is  gone  down  in  a  great  measure,  I  notice  that 
they  have  not  been  washed  away  or  much  in 
jured,  as  a  heap  of  manure  would  have  been, 
they  are  so  artificially  constructed  ;  moreover, 
for  the  most  part,  they  are  protected  as  well  as 
concealed  by  the  button-bushes,  willows,  or  weeds 
about  them.  What  exactly  are  they  for  ?  This 
is  not  the  breeding  season  of  the  muskrat.  I 
think  they  are  merely  an  artificial  bank  or  air 
chamber  near  the  water,  houses  of  refuge.  But 
why  do  they  need  them  more  at  this  season  than 
in  summer?  it  might  be  asked.  Perhaps  they 
are  constructed  just  before  the  rise  of  the  water 
in  the  fall  and  winter,  that  they  may  not  have 
to  swim  so  far  as  the  flood  would  require  in 
order  to  eat  their  clams. 

Nov.  5,  1855.     I  hate  the  present  modes  of 


AUTUMN.  219 

living  and  getting  a  living.  Farming  and  shop- 
keeping  and  working  at  a  trade  or  profession, 
are  all  odious  to  me.  I  should  relish  getting 
my  living  in  a  simple,  primitive  fashion.  The 
life  which  society  proposes  to  me  to  live  is  so 
artificial  and  complex,  bolstered  up  on  many 
weak  supports,  and  sure  to  topple  down  at  last, 
that  no  man  surely  can  ever  be  inspired  to  live 
it,  and  only  "  old  fogies  "  ever  praise  it.  At 
best  some  think  it  their  duty  to  live  it.  I  believe 
in  the  infinite  joy  and  satisfaction  of  helping 
myself  and  others  to  the  extent  of  my  ability. 
But  what  is  the  use  in  trying  to  live  simply, 
raising  what  you  eat,  making  what  you  wear, 
building  what  you  inhabit,  burning  what  you 
cut  and  dig,  when  those  to  whom  you  are  allied 
outwardly,  want  and  will  have  a  thousand  other 
things  which  neither  you  nor  they  can  raise,  and 
nobody  else,  perchance,  will  pay  for.  The  fel 
low-man  to  whom  you  are  yoked  is  a  steer  that 
is  ever  bolting  right  the  other  way.  I  was  sug 
gesting  once  to  a  man  who  was  wincing  under 
some  of  the  consequences  of  our  loose  and  ex 
pensive  way  of  living.  "But  you  might  raise 
your  own  potatoes,"  etc.  We  had  often  done  it 
at  our  house  and  had  some  to  sell.  At  which  he 
demurring,  I  said,  setting  it  high,  "You  could 
raise  twenty  bushels  even."  But  said  he,  "  I 
use  thirty-five."  "  How  large  is  your  family  ?  " 


220  AUTUMN. 

"  A  wife  and  three  infant  children."  This  was 
the  real  family.  I  need  not  enumerate  those 
who  were  hired  to  help  eat  the  potatoes  and 
waste  them.  So  he  had  to  hire  a  man  to  raise 
his  potatoes.  Thus  men  invite  the  devil  in,  at 
every  angle,  and  then  prate  about  the  Garden  of 
Eden  and  the  fall  of  man.  I  know  many  chil 
dren  to  whom  I  would  fain  make  a  present  on 
some  one  of  their  birthdays,  but  they  are  so  far 
gone  in  the  luxury  of  presents,  have  such  per 
fect  museums  of  costly  ones,  that  it  would  absorb 
my  entire  earnings  for  a  year  to  buy  them  some 
thing  which  would  not  be  beneath  their  notice. 

That  white  birch  fungus  always  presents  its 
face  to  the  ground,  parallel  with  it,  for  here  are 
some  on  an  upright  dead  birch  whose  faces  or 
planes  are  at  right  angles  with  the  axis  of  the 
tree,  as  usual,  looking  down,  but  others,  attached 
to  the  top  of  the  tree  which  lies  prostrate  on  the 
ground,  have  their  planes  parallel  with  the  axis 
of  the  tree,  as  if  looking  round  the  birch. 

Nov.  5,  1857.  Sometimes  I  would  rather  get 
a  transient  glimpse  or  side  view  of  a  thing  than 
stand  fronting  it,  as  with  these  polypodies.  The 
object  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  as  I  went  by,  haunts 
my  thought  a  long  time,  is  infinitely  suggestive, 
and  I  do  not  care  to  front  it  and  scrutinize  it, 
for  I  know  that  the  thing  that  really  concerns 
me  is  not  there,  but  in  my  relation  to  that. 


AUTUMN.  221 

That  is  a  mere  reflecting  surface.  It  is  not  the 
polypody  in  my  pitcher  or  herbarium,  or  which 
I  may  possibly  persuade  to  grow  on  a  bank  in 
my  yard,  or  which  is  described  in  the  botanies, 
that  interests  me,  but  the  one  I  pass  by  in  my 
walks  a  little  distance  off,  when  in  the  right 
mood.  Its  influence  is  sporadic,  wafted  through 
the  air  to  me.  Do  you  imagine  its  fruit  to  stick 
to  the  back  of  the  leaf  all  winter?  At  this 
season  polypody  is  in  the  air.  It  is  worth  the 
while  to  walk  in  swamps  now,  to  bathe  your  eyes 
in  greenness.  The  terminal-shield  fern  is  the 
handsomest  and  glossiest  green. 

I  think  the  man  of  science  makes  the  mistake, 
and  the  mass  of  mankind  along  with  him,  to 
suppose  that  you  should  give  your  chief  atten 
tion  to  the  phenomenon  which  excites  you,  as 
something  independent  of  you,  and  not  as  it  is 
related  to  you.  The  important  fact  is  its  effect 
on  me.  The  man  of  science  thinks  I  have  no 
business  to  see  anything  else  but  just  what  he 
defines  the  rainbow  to  be,  but  I  care  not  whether 
my  vision  is  a  waking  thought  or  a  dream  re 
membered,  whether  it  is  seen  in  the  light  or  in 
the  dark.  It  is  the  subject  of  the  vision,  the 
truth  alone  that  concerns  me.  The  philosopher 
for  whom  rainbows,  etc.,  can  be  explained  away 
never  saw  them. 

Nov.  5,  1858.     The  Cornus  florida  on  the 


222  AUTUMN. 

Island  is  still  full-leafed,  and  is  now  completely 
scarlet,  though  it  was  partly  green  on  the  twenty- 
eighth  [of  October].  It  is  apparently  in  the 
height  of  its  color  there  now,  or  if  more  exposed 
perhaps  it  would  have  been  on  the  first  of  No 
vember.  This  makes  it  the  latest  tree  to  change. 

Nov.  5,  1860.  I  am  struck  by  the  fact  that 
the  more  slowly  trees  grow  at  first,  the  sounder 
they  are  at  the  core,  and  I  think  the  same  is 
true  of  human  beings.  We  do  not  wish  to  see 
children  precocious,  making  great  strides  in  their 
early  years,  like  sprouts  producing  a  soft  and 
perishable  timber,  but  better  if  they  expand 
slowly  at  first,  as  if  contending  with  difficulties, 
and  so  are  solidified  and  perfected.  Such  trees 
continue  and  expand  with  nearly  equal  rapidity 
to  an  extreme  old  age. 

Nov.  6,  1853.  Climbed  the  wooded  hill  by 
Holden's  spruce  swamp,  and  got  a  novel  view  of 
the  river  and  Fair  Haven  Bay  through  the 
almost  leafless  woods.  How  much  handsomer  a 
river  or  lake  such  as  ours  seen  thus  through  a 
foreground  of  scattered  or  else  partially  leafless 
trees,  though  at  a  considerable  distance  this  side 
of  it,  especially  if  the  water  is  open,  without  a 
wooded  shore  or  isles.  It  is  the  most  perfect 
and  beautiful  of  all  frames,  which  yet  the 
sketcher  is  commonly  careful  to  brush  aside.  I 
mean  a  pretty  thick  foreground,  a  view  of  the 


AUTUMN.  223 

distant  water  through  the  near  forest,  through  a 
thousand  little  vistas,  as  we  are  rushing  towards 
the  former,  that  intimate  mingling  of  wood  and 
water  which  excites  an  expectation  that  the  near 
and  open  view  rarely  realizes.  We  prefer  that 
some  part  be  concealed  which  our  imagination 
may  navigate. 

Nov.  6,  1857.  Minott  is  a  very  pleasing 
figure  in  nature.  He  improves  any  scenery,  he 
and  his  comrades,  Harry  Hooper,  John  Wyman, 
Oliver  Williams,  etc.  If  he  gets  into  a  pond 
hole,  he  disturbs  it  no  more  than  a  water  spirit 
for  me. 

Nov.  7,  1839.  We  are  not  commonly  aware 
that  there  is  a  rising  as  well  as  a  risen  genera 
tion.  It  is  a  fact,  the  growing  men  or  women 
which  we  do  not  commonly  allow  for  or  re 
member,  who  would  disturb  many  a  fair  theory. 
Speak  for  yourself,  old  man.  By  what  degrees 
of  consanguinity  is  this  succulent  and  rank-grow 
ing  slip  of  manhood  related  to  me  ?  What  is  it 
but  another  herb,  ranging  all  the  kingdoms  of 
Nature,  drawing  its  sustenance  by  a  thousand 
roots  and  fibres  from  all  soils ! 

Nov.  7,  1840. 

I  'm  guided  in  the  darkest  night 
By  flashes  of  auroral  light, 
Which  overdart  thy  eastern  home, 
And  teach  me  not  in  vain  to  roam. 


224  AUTUMN. 

Thy  steady  light  on  t'  other  side 
Pales  the  sunset,  makes  day  abide, 
And  after  sunrise,  stays  the  dawn, 
Forerunner  of  a  brighter  morn. 

When  others  laugh,  I  am  not  glad, 
When  others  cry,  I  am  not  sad. 

I  am  a  miser  without  blame, 

Am  conscience-stricken  without  shame, 

An  idler  am  I  without  leisure, 

A  busybody  without  pleasure. 

I  did  not  think  so  bright  a  day 

Would  issue  in  so  dark  a  night, 

I  did  not  think  such  sober  play 

Would  leave  me  in  so  sad  a  plight, 

And  I  should  be  most  sorely  spent, 

When  first  I  was  most  innocent. 

I  thought  by  loving  all  beside, 
To  prove  to  you  my  love  was  wide, 
And  by  the  rites  I  soared  above, 
To  show  you  my  peculiar  love. 

Nov.  7,  1853.  Three  bluebirds  still  braving 
the  cold  winds,  Acton  Blues.  Their  blue  uni 
form  makes  me  think  of  soldiers  who  have  re 
ceived  orders  to  keep  the  field  and  not  go  into 
winter  quarters. 

A  muskrat's  house  on  the  top  of  a  rock ;  [the 
soil  ?]  too  thin  round  the  sides  for  a  passage  be 
neath,  yet  a  small  cavity  at  top,  which  makes 
me  think  they  use  them  merely  as  a  sheltered 
perch  above  water.  They  seize  thus  many 


AUTUMN.  225 

cones  to  build  on,  as  a  hummock  left  by  the  ice. 
The  wads  of  which  this  muskrat's  house  was 
composed  were  about  six  inches  by  four,  rounded 
and  massed  at  one  end  and  flaking  off  at  the 
other,  and  were  composed  chiefly  of  a  little 
green  moss-like  weed,  for  the  most  part  withered 
dark-brown,  and  having  the  strong  odor  of  the 
fresh  water  sponge  and  conferva. 

Nov.  7,  1855.  I  find  it  good  to  be  out  in 
this  still,  dark,  mizzling  afternoon.  My  walk  or 
voyage  is  more  suggestive  and  profitable  than  in 
bright  weather.  The  view  is  contracted  by  the 
misty  rain.  The  water  is  perfectly  smooth,  and 
the  stillness  is  favorable  to  reflection.  I  am 
more  open  to  impressions,  more  sensitive,  not 
calloused  or  indurated  by  sun  and  wind,  as  if  in 
a  chamber  still.  My  thoughts  are  concentrated. 
I  am  all  compact.  The  solitude  is  real,  too,  for 
the  weather  keeps  other  men  at  home.  This 
mist  is  like  a  roof  and  walls,  over  and  around, 
and  I  walk  with  a  domestic  feeling.  The  sound 
of  a  wagon  going  over  an  unseen  bridge  is  louder 
than  ever,  and  so  of  other  sounds.  I  am  com 
pelled  to  look  at  near  objects.  All  things  have 
a  soothing  effect.  The  very  clouds  and  mists 
brood  over  me.  My  power  of  observation  and 
contemplation  is  much  increased.  My  attention 
does  not  wander.  The  world  and  my  life  are 
simplified.  What  now  are  Europe  and  Asia  ? 


226  AUTUMN. 

Nov.  7,  1857.  Minott  adorns  whatever  part 
of  nature  he  touches.  Whichever  way  he  walks 
he  transfigures  the  earth  for  me.  If  a  common 
man  speaks  of  Walden  Pond  to  me,  I  see  only  a 
shallow,  dull-colored  body  of  water,  without  re 
flections,  or  peculiar  color,  but  if  Minott  speaks 
of  it,  I  see  the  green  water  and  reflected  hills  at 
once,  for  he  has  been  there.  I  hear  the  rustle 
of  leaves  from  woods  which  he  goes  through. 

This  has  been  another  Indian-summer  day. 
Thermometer  58°  at  noon. 

Nov.  7,  1858.  P.  M.  To  Bateman's  Pond. 
I  leave  my  boat  opposite  the  hemlocks,  and  as  I 
glance  upwards  between  them,  seeing  the  bare 
but  bright  hillside  beyond,  I  think,  Now  we  are 
left  to  the  hemlocks  and  pines  with  their  silvery 
light,  to  the  bare  trees  and  withered  grass.  The 
very  rocks  and  stones  in  the  rocky  road  (that 
beyond  Farmer's)  look  white  in  the  clear  No 
vember  light,  especially  after  the  rain.  We  are 
left  to  the  chickadee's  familiar  notes,  and  the 
jay  for  trumpeter.  What  struck  me  was  a  cer 
tain  emptiness  beyond,  between  the  hemlocks 
and  the  hill,  in  the  cool  washed  air,  as  if  I 
appreciated  the  absence  of  insects  from  it.  It 
suggested,  agreeably  to  me,  a  mere  space  in 
which  to  walk  briskly.  The  fields  are,  as  it 
were,  vacated.  The  very  earth  is  like  a  house 
shut  up  for  the  winter,  and  I  go  knocking  about 


AUTUMN.  227 

it  in  vain.  But  just  then  I  heard  a  chickadee 
in  a  hemlock,  and  was  inexpressibly  cheered  to 
find  that  an  old  acquaintance  was  yet  stirring 
about  the  premises,  and  was,  I  was  assured,  to 
be  there  all  winter.  All  that  is  evergreen  in 
me  revived  at  once. 

The  very  moss  (the  little  pine  moss)  in  Hos- 
mer's  meadow  is  revealed  by  its  greenness  amid 
the  withered  grass  and  stubble. 

Going  up  the  lane  beyond  Farmer's,  I  was 
surprised  to  see  fly  up  from  the  white  stony 
ground  two  snow  buntings,  which  alighted  again 
close  by.  They  had  pale  brown  or  tawny  touches 
on  the  white  breast,  on  each  side  oft  the  head 
and  on  top  of  the  head,  in  the  last  place  with  some 
darker  color.  Had  light  yellowish  bills.  They 
sat  quite  motionless  within  two  rods,  and  allowed 
me  to  approach  within  a  rod,  as  if  conscious  that 
the  white  rocks,  etc.,  concealed  them.  It  seemed 
as  if  they  were  attracted  to  our  faces  of  the  same 
color  with  themselves.  One  squatted  flat,  if  not 
both.  Their  soft  rippling  notes,  as  they  went 
off,  reminded  me  of  the  northeast  snowstorms 
to  which  erelong  they  are  to  be  an  accompani 
ment. 

Looking  southwest  toward  the  pond  just  be 
fore  sunset,  I  saw  against  the  light  what  I  took 
to  be  a  shad-bush  in  full  bloom,  but  without  a 
leaflet.  I  was  prepared  for  this  sight  after  the 


228  AUTUMN. 

very  warm  autumn,  because  this  tree  frequently 
puts  forth  leaves  in  October.  Or  it  might  be  a 
young  wild  apple.  Hastening  to  it,  I  found  it 
was  only  the  feathery  seeds  of  the  Virgin's 
Bower  [Clematis  mrginiana~],  whose  vine,  so 
close  to  the  branches,  was  not  noticeable.  They 
looked  just  like  dense  umbels  of  white  flowers, 
and  in  this  light,  three  or  four  rods  off,  were 
fully  as  light  as  white  apple-blossoms.  It  is 
singular  how  one  thing  thus  puts  on  the  sem 
blance  of  another.  I  thought  at  first  I  had 
made  a  discovery  more  interesting  than  the  blos 
soming  of  apple  trees  in  the  fall.  It  carried  me 
round  t%  spring  again,  when  the  shad- bush, 
almost  leafless,  is  seen  waving  its  white  blos 
soms  amid  the  yet  bare  trees,  the  feathery 
masses,  at  intervals  along  the  twigs,  just  like 
umbels  of  apple  bloom,  so  caught  and  reflected 
the  western  light. 

I  pass  a  musquash  house,  apparently  begun 
last  night.  The  first  mouthfuls  of  weeds  were 
placed  between  some  small  button-bush  stems 
which  stood  amid  the  pads  and  pontederia  for  a 
support,  and  to  prevent  their  being  washed 
away.  Opposite  I  see  some  half  concealed  amid 
the  bleached  phalaris  grass  (a  tall  coarse  grass), 
or,  in  some  places,  the  blue  joint. 

Nov.  8,  1850.  The  stillness  of  the  woods 
and  fields  is  remarkable  at  this  season  of  the 


AUTUMN.  229 

year.  There  is  not  even  the  creak  of  a  cricket 
to  be  heard.  Of  myriads  of  dry  shrub-oak 
leaves,  not  one  rustles.  Your  own  breath  can 
stir  them,  yet  the  breath  of  heaven  does  not  suf 
fice  to.  The  trees  have  the  aspect  of  waiting 
for  winter.  The  sprouts  which  had  shot  up  so 
vigorously  to  repair  the  damage  which  the  chop 
pers  had  done,  have  stopped  short  for  the  winter. 
Everything  stands  silent  and  expectant.  If  I 
listen,  I  hear  only  the  note  of  a  chickadee,  our 
most  common  bird  at  present,  most  identified 
with  our  forests,  or  perchance  the  scream  of  a 
jay,  or  from  the  solemn  depths  of  the  woods  I 
hear  tolling  far  away  the  knell  of  one  departed. 
Thought  rushes  in  to  fill  the  vacuum.  As  you 
walk,  however,  the  partridge  bursts  away  from 
the  foot  of  a  shrub  oak,  like  its  own  dry  fruit ; 
immortal  bird!  This  sound  still  startles  us. 
The  silent,  dry,  almost  leafless,  certainly  fruit 
less  woods,  you  wonder  what  cheer  that  bird  can 
find  in  them. 

Nov.  8,  1851.  Ah,  those  sun-sparkles  on 
Dudley  Pond  in  this  November  air,  what  a 
heaven  to  live  in !  Intensely  brilliant  as  no 
artificial  light  I  have  seen,  like  a  dance  of  dia 
monds,  coarse  mazes  of  the  diamond  dance  seen 
through  the  trees.  All  objects  shine  to-day, 
even  the  sportsmen  seen  at  a  distance,  as  if  a 
cavern  were  unroofed,  and  its  crystals  gave 


230  AUTUMN. 

entertainment  to  the  sun.  This  great  see-saw  of 
brilliants,  the  di/>Jpi#/Aoi>  yeA.ao-/xa.  The  squirrels 
that  run  across  the  road  sport  their  tails  like 
banners.  When  I  saw  the  bare  sand  at  Cochit- 
uate,  I  felt  my  relation  to  the  soil.  These  are 
my  sands  not  yet  run  out.  Not  yet  will  the 
fates  turn  the  glass.  In  this  sand  my  bones 
will  gladly  lie.  Like  the  Viola  pedata,  I  shall 
be  ready  to  bloom  again  here  in  my  Indian-sum 
mer  days.  Here,  ever  springing,  never  dying, 
with  perennial  root  I  stand,  for  the  winter  of  the 
land  is  warm  to  me.  When  I  see  the  earth's 
sands  thrown  up  from  beneath  its  surface,  it 
touches  me  inwardly,  it  reminds  me  of  my  origin, 
for  I  am  such  a  plant,  so  native  to  New  Eng 
land,  methinks,  as  springs  from  the  sand  cast 
up  from  below. 

Nov.  8,  1853.  10  A.  M.  Our  first  snow.  The 
children  greet  it  with  a  shout,  when  they  come 
out  at  recess.  P.  M.  It  begins  to  whiten  the 
plowed  ground  now,  but  has  not  overcome  the 
russet  of  the  grass  ground.  Birds  generally 
wear  the  russet  dress  of  nature  at  this  season. 
They  have  their  fall,  no  less  than  the  plants. 
The  bright  tints  depart  from  their  foliage  or 
feathers,  and  they  flit  past  like  withered  leaves 
in  rustling  flocks.  The  sparrow  is  a  withered 
leaf.  Perchance  I  heard  the  last  cricket  of  the 
season  yesterday,  —  they  chirp  here  and  there  at 


AUTUMN.  231 

longer  and  longer  intervals  till  the  snow  quenches 
their  song,  —  and  the  last  striped  squirrel,  too, 
perchance,  yesterday.  They  then  do  not  go 
into  winter  quarters  till  the  ground  is  covered 
with  snow. 

The  partridges  go  off  with  a  whirr,  and  then 
sail  a  long  way,  level  and  low,  through  the  woods 
with  that  impetus  they  have  got,  displaying  their 
neat  forms  perfectly. 

Nov.  8,  1857.  A  warm,  cloudy,  rain-threat 
ening  morning.  About  10  A.  M.,  a  long  flock 
of  geese  are  going  over  from  northeast  to  south 
west,  or  parallel  with  the  general  direction  of  the 
coast,  and  great  mountain  ranges.  The  sonorous, 
quavering  sounds  of  the  geese  are  the  voice  of 
the  cloudy  air,  a  sound  that  comes  from  directly 
between  us  and  the  sky,  an  aerial  sound,  and  yet 
so  distinct,  heavy  and  sonorous ;  a  clanking  chain 
drawn  through  the  heavy  air.  I  saw  through 
my  window  some  children  looking  up,  and 
pointing  their  tiny  bows  into  the  heavens,  and  I 
knew  at  once  that  the  geese  were  in  the  air.  It 
is  always  an  exciting  event.  The  children,  in 
stinctively  aware  of  its  importance,  rushed  into 
the  house  to  tell  their  parents.  These  trav 
elers  are  revealed  to  you  by  the  upward-turned 
gaze  of  men.  And  though  these  undulating 
lines  are  melting  into  the  southwestern  sky,  the 
sound  comes  clear  and  distinct  to  you  as  the 


232  AUTUMN. 

clank  of  a  chain  in  a  neighboring  stithy.  So 
they  migrate,  not  flying  from  hedge  to  hedge, 
but  from  latitude  to  latitude,  from  state  to 
state,  steering  boldly  out  into  the  ocean  of  the 
air.  It  is  remarkable  how  these  large  objects,  so 
plain  when  your  vision  is  rightly  directed,  may 
be  lost  in  the  sky,  if  you  look  away  for  a  mo 
ment,  as  hard  to  hit  as  a  star  with  a  telescope. 

It  is  a  sort  of  encouraging  or  soothing  sound, 
to  assuage  their  painful  fears  when  they  go  over 
a  town,  as  a  man  moans  to  deaden  a  physical 
pain.  The  direction  of  their  flight  each  spring 
and  autumn  reminds  us  inlanders  how  the  coast 
trends.  In  the  afternoon  I  met  Flood,  who  en 
deavored  to  draw  my  attention  to  a  flock  of 
geese  in  the  mizzling  air,  but  encountering  me 
he  lost  sight  of  them,  while  I  at  length,  looking 
that  way,  discovered  them,  though  he  could  not. 
This  was  the  third  flock  to-day.  Now,  if  ever, 
then,  we  may  expect  some  change  in  the 
weather. 

p.  M.  To  the  swamp  in  front  of  the  C.  Miles 
house.  I  have  no  doubt  that  a  good  farmer, 
who  of  course  loves  his  work,  takes  exactly  the 
same  kind  of  pleasure  in  draining  a  swamp,  see 
ing  the  water  flow  out  in  his  newly-cut  ditch, 
that  a  child  does  in  his  mud  dykes  and  water 
wheels.  Both  alike  love  to  play  with  the  natural 
forces. 


AUTUMN.  233 

There  is  quite  a  ravine  by  which  the  water  of 
this  swamp  flows  out  eastward,  and  at  the  bot 
tom  of  it  many  prinos  berries  are  conspicuous, 
now  apparently  in  their  prime.  These  are  ap 
pointed  to  be  an  ornament  of  this  bare  season 
between  leaves  and  snow.  The  swamp  pink's 
large,  yellowish  buds,  too,  are  conspicuous  now. 
I  see  also  the  swamp  pyrus  buds,  expanded 
sometimes  into  small  leaves.  This  then  is  a  reg 
ular  phenomenon.  It  is  the  only  shrub  or  tree 
that  I  know  which  so  decidedly  springs  again 
in  the  fall,  in  the  Indian  summer.  It  might  be 
called  the  Indian-summer  shrub.  The  clethra 
buds,  too,  have  decidedly  expanded  there,  show 
ing  leaflets,  but  very  small.  Some  of  the  new 
pyrus  leaves  are  nearly  full-grown.  Would  not 
this  be  a  pretty  device  on  some  hale  and  cheery 
old  man's  shield,  the  swamp  pyrus  unfolding  its 
leaves  again  in  the  fall?  Every  plant  enjoys 
some  preeminence,  and  this  is  its  :  the  most  for 
ward  to  respond  to  the  warmer  season.  How 
much  spring  there  is  in  it!  Its  sap  is  most 
easily  liquefied.  It  takes  the  least  sun  to  thaw 
and  develop  it.  It  makes  this  annual  sacrifice 
of  its  very  first  leaves  to  its  love  for  the  sun. 
While  all  other  plants  are  reserved,  this  is  open 
and  confiding.  I  see  it  not  without  emotion.  I, 
too,  have  my  spring  thoughts  even  in  November. 
This  I  see  in  pleasant  November  days,  when 


234  AUTUMN. 

rills  and  birds  begin  to  tinkle  in  winter  fashion 
through  the  more  open  aisles  of  the  swamps. 

I  do  not  know  exactly  what  that  sweet  word 
is  which  the  chickadee  says  when  it  hops  near 
to  me  now  in  those  ravines. 

When  the  air  is  thick  and  the  sky  overcast, 
we  need  not  walk  so  far.  We  give  our  atten 
tion  to  nearer  objects,  being  less  distracted  from 
them.  I  take  occasion  to  explore  some  near 
wood  which  my  walks  commonly  overshoot. 

Ah,  my  friends,  I  know  you  better  than  you 
think,  and  love  you  better,  too.  The  day  after 
never,  we  will  have  an  explanation. 

Nov.  8,  1858.  P.  M.  To  Boidder  Field.  .  .  . 
Nature  has  many  scenes  to  exhibit,  and  con 
stantly  draws  a  curtain  over  this  part  or  that. 
She  is  constantly  repainting  the  landscape  and 
all  surfaces,  dressing  up  some  scene  for  our  en 
tertainment.  Lately  we  had  a  leafy  wilderness  ; 
now  bare  twigs  begin  to  prevail,  and  soon  she 
will  surprise  us  with  a  mantle  of  snow.  Some 
green  she  thinks  so  good  for  our  eyes  that,  like 
blue,  she  never  banishes  it  entirely  from  our 
eyes,  but  has  created  evergreens. 

It  is  remarkable  how  little  any  but  a  lichenist 
will  observe  on  the  bark  of  trees.  The  mass  of 
men  have  but  the  vaguest  and  most  indefinite 
notion  of  mosses,  as  a  sort  of  shreds  and  fringes, 
and  the  world  in  which  the  lichenist  dwells  is 


AUTUMN.  235 

much  further  from  theirs  than  one  side  of  this 
earth  from  the  other.  They  see  bark  as  if  they 
saw  it  not.  .  .  .  Each  phase  of  nature,  while  not 
invisible,  is  yet  not  too  distinct  and  obstrusive. 
It  is  there,  to  be  found  when  we  look  for  it,  but 
not  demanding  our  attention.  It  is  like  a  silent 
but  sympathizing  companion,  in  whose  company 
we  retain  most  of  the  advantages  of  solitude,  with 
whom  we  can  walk  and  talk,  or  be  silent,  natur 
ally,  without  the  necessity  of  talking  in  a  strain 
foreign  to  the  place.  I  know  of  but  one  or  two 
persons  with  whom  I  can  afford  to  walk.  With 
most,  the  walk  degenerates  into  a  more  vigorous 
use  of  your  legs  (ludicrously  purposeless),  while 
you  are  discussing  some  weighty  argument,  each 
one  having  his  say,  spoiling  each  other's  day,  wor 
rying  one  another  with  conversation.  I  know 
of  no  use  in  the  walking  part  in  this  case,  ex 
cept  that  we  may  seem  to  be  getting  on  together 
toward  some  goal.  But  of  course  we  keep  our 
distance  all  the  way;  jumping  every  wall  and 
ditch  with  vigor  in  the  vain  hope  of  shaking 
our  companion  off,  trying  to  kill  two  birds  with 
one  stone,  though  they  sit  at  opposite  points 
of  the  compass,  to  see  nature  and  do  the  honors 
to  one  who  does  not. 

I  wandered  over  bare  fields  where  the  cat 
tle,  lately  turned  out,  roamed  restless  and  un 
satisfied  with  the  feed.  I  dived  into  a  rust- 


236  AUTUMN. 

ling  young  oak  wood  where  not  a  green  leaf 
was  to  be  seen,  and  again  I  thought,  They  are 
all  gone  surely,  and  have  left  me  alone.  Not 
even  a  man  Friday  remains.  What  nutriment 
can  I  extract  from  these  bare  twigs  ?  Starva 
tion  stares  me  in  the  face.  "  Nay,  nay"  said  a 
nuthatch,  making  its  way,  head  downward, 
about  a  bare  hickory  close  by,  "  The  nearer  the 
bone,  the  sweeter  the  meat.  Only  the  superflu 
ous  has  been  swept  away.  Now  we  behold  the 
naked  truth.  If  at  any  time  the  weather  is 
too  bleak  and  cold  for  you,  keep  the  sunny  side 
of  the  trunk,  for  a  wholesome  and  inspiring 
warmth  is  there,  such  as  the  summer  never 
afforded.  There  are  the  winter  morning's  with 

o 

the  sun  on  the  oak  wood-tops.  While  buds  sleep 
thoughts  wake."  "Hear!  hear!"  screamed  the 
jay  from  a  neighboring  tree,  where  I  had  heard 
a  tittering  for  some  time,  "  winter  has  a  concen 
trated  and  nutty  kernel,  if  you  know  where  to 
look  for  it,"  and  then  the  speaker  shifted  to  an 
other  tree  farther  off  and  reiterated  his  asser 
tions,  and  his  mate  at  a  distance  confirmed 
them;  and  now  I  heard  a  suppressed  chuckle 
from  a  red  squirrel  that  heard  the  last  remark, 
but  had  kept  silent  and  invisible  all  the  while. 
The  birds  being  gone,  the  squirrel  came  running 
down  a  slanting  bough,  and  as  he  stopped  twirl 
ing  a  nut,  called  out  rather  impudently,  "  Look 


AUTUMN.  237 

here  !  just  get  a  snug-fitting  fur  coat  and  a  pair 
of  fur  gloves  like  mine,  and  you  may  laugh  at 
a  northeast  storm."  Then  he  wound  up  with 
a  stray  phrase  in  his  own  lingo,  accompanied 
by  a  flourish  of  his  tail. 

Nov.  9,  1850.  I  found  many  fresh  violets 
(  Viola  pedata)  to-day  in  the  woods. 

Nov.  9,  1851.  I  would  fain  set  down  some 
thing  beside  facts.  Facts  should  only  be  the 
frame  to  my  picture.  They  should  be  material 
to  the  mythology  which  I  am  writing,  not  facts 
to  assist  men  to  make  money,  farmers  to  farm 
profitably  in  any  common  sense,  facts  to  tell 
who  I  am,  and  where  I  have  been,  or  what  I 
have  thought ;  as  now  the  bell  rings  for  evening 
meeting,  and  its  volumes  of  sound,  like  smoke 
which  rises  from  where  a  cannon  is  fired,  make 
the  tent  in  which  I  dwell.  My  facts  shall  all 
be  falsehoods  to  the  common  sense.  I  would  so 
state  facts  that  they  shall  be  significant,  shall 
be  myths  or  mythologic,  facts  which  the  mind 
perceived,  thoughts  which  the  body  thought, 
with  these  I  deal.  I  cherish  vague  and  misty 
forms,  vaguest  when  the  cloud  at  which  I  gaze 
is  dissipated  quite,  and  naught  but  the  skyey 
depths  are  seen. 

James  P.  Brown's  retired  pond,  now  shallow 
and  more  than  half  dried  up,  seems  far  away 
and  rarely  visited,  known  to  few,  though  not 


238  AUTUMN. 

far  off.  It  is  encircled  by  an  amphitheatre  of 
low  hills,  on  two  opposite  sides  covered  with  high 
pine  woods,  the  two  other  sides  with  young 
white  oaks  and  white  pines  respectively.  I  am 
affected  by  seeing  there  reflected  this  gray  day, 
the  gray  stems  of  the  pine  wood  on  the  hillside, 
and  the  sky  ;  that  mirror,  as  it  were  a  perma 
nent  picture  to  be  seen  there,  a  permanent  piece 
of  idealism.  I  am  a  little  surprised  on  beholding 
this  reflection  which  I  did  not  perceive  for  some 
minutes  after  looking  into  the  pond,  as  if  I  had 
not  regarded  this  as  a  constant  phenomenon. 
What  has  become  of  Nature's  common-sense  and 
love  of  facts  when  in  the  very  mud-puddles  she 
reflects  the  skies  and  the  trees  ?  Does  that  pro 
cedure  recommend  itself  entirely  to  the  common- 
sense  of  men  ?  Is  that  the  way  the  New  Eng 
land  farmer  would  have  arranged  it  ? 

Now  the  leaves  are  gone,  the  birds'  nests  are 
revealed,  the  brood  being  fledged  and  flown. 
There  is  a  perfect  adaptation  in  the  material  used 
in  constructing  a  nest.  Here  is  one  which  I 
took  from  a  maple  on  the  causeway  at  Hub- 
bard's  bridge.  It  is  fastened  to  the  twigs  by 
white  woolen  strings  (out  of  a  shawl?)  which 
were  picked  up  in  the  road,  though  it  is  more 
than  half  a  mile  from  a  house ;  and  the  sharp 
eyes  of  the  bird  have  discovered  plenty  of  horse 
hairs  out  of  the  tail  or  mane  with  which  to  give 


AUTUMN.  239 

it  form  by  their  spring,  with  meadow  hay  for 
body,  and  the  reddish  woolly  material  which 
invests  the  ferns  in  the  spring,  apparently,  for 
lining. 

Nov.  9,  1852.  Ranunculus  repens,  Bidens 
connata,  flat  in  a  brook,  yarrow,  dandelion, 
autumnal  dandelion,  tansy,  Aster  undulatus, 
etc.  A  late  three-ribbed  golden-rod,  with  large 
serratures  in  the  middle  of  the  narrow  leaves, 
ten  or  twelve  rays,  Potentilla  argentea.  Early 
part  of  November,  time  for  walnutting. 

Nov.  9,  1853.  P.  M.  To  Fair  Haven  Hill  by 
boat  with  W.  E.  C.  The  muskrats  have  added 
a  new  story  to  their  houses  since  the  last  flood 
which  covered  them,  I  mean  that  of  October 
31st,  or  thereabouts.  They  are  uncommonly 
high,  I  think  full  four  feet  by  five  or  more  in 
diameter,  a  heaping  cart-load.  There  are  at 
least  eight  such  within  half  a  mile.  It  is  re 
markable  how  little  effect  the  waves  have  on 
them,  while  a  heap  of  manure  or  a  haycock 
would  be  washed  away  or  undermined  at  once. 
I  opened  one.  It  was  composed  of  coarse  grass, 
pontederia  stems,  etc.,  not  altogether  in  mouth- 
fuls.  This  was  three  and  a  half  feet  above 
water,  others  quite  four.  After  taking  off  a 
foot,  I  came  to  the  chamber.  It  was  a  regu 
larly  formed  oval  or  elliptical  chamber,  about 
eighteen  inches  the  longest  way,  and  seven  or 


240  .         AUTUMN. 

eight  inches  deep,  shaped  like  a  pebble,  with 
smooth  walls  of  the  weeds,  and  bottomed  or 
bedded  with  a  very  little  drier  grass,  a  mere 
coating  of  it.  It  would  hold  four  or  five,  closely 
packed.  The  entrance,  eight  or  nine  inches 
wide,  led  directly  from  the  water  at  an  angle  of 
45°,  and  in  the  water  there  were  some  green 
and  white  stub  ends  of  pontederia  (?)  stems,  I 
think,  looking  like  flagroot.  That  thick  wall,  a 
foot  quite  or  more  above,  and  eighteen  inches 
or  two  feet  [below?],  being  of  these  damp 
materials  soon  freezes,  and  makes  a  tight  and 
warm  house.  The  walls  are  of  such  breadth 
at  the  bottom  that  the  water  in  the  gallery 
probably  never  freezes.  If  the  height  of  these 
houses  is  any  sign  of  high  or  low  water,  this 
winter  it  will  be  uncommonly  high. 

Nov.  9,  1855.  9  A.  M.  With  Blake  up  Assa- 
bet.  Saw  in  the  pool  at  the  Hemlocks  what  I 
at  first  thought  was  a  brighter  leaf  moved  by 
the  zephyr  on  the  surface  of  the  smooth,  dark 
water,  but  it  was  a  splendid  male  summer  duck, 
which  allowed  us  to  approach  within  seven  or 
eight  rods.  It  was  sailing  up  close  to  the 
shore,  and  then  rose  and  flew  up  the  curving 
stream.  It  was  a  perfect  floating  gem,  and 
Blake,  who  had  never  seen  the  like,  was  greatly 
surprised,  not  knowing  that  so  splendid  a  bird 
was  found  in  this  part  of  the  world.  There  it 


AUTUMN.  241 

was,  constantly  moving  back  and  forth  by  invis 
ible  means,  and  wheeling  on  the  smooth  surface, 
showing  now  its  breast,  now  its  side,  now  its 
rear.  It  had  a  large,  rich,  flowing,  green,  bur 
nished  crest,  a  most  ample  head-dress,  two  cres 
cents  of  dazzling  white  on  the  side  of  the  head 
and  the  black  neck,  a  pinkish  red  bill  (with 
black  tip)  and  similar  irides,  and  a  long  white 
mark  under  and  at  wing -point  on  sides,  the 
side,  as  if  the  form  of  wing  at  this  distance, 
light  bronze  or  greenish  brown  ;  but,  above  all, 
its  breast,  when  it  turns  into  the  right  light,  all 
aglow  with  splendid  purple  (?)  or  ruby  (?)  re 
flections  like  the  throat  of  the  humming-bird. 
It  might  not  appear  so,  close  at  hand.  This 
was  the  most  surprising  to  me.  What  an  orna 
ment  to  a  river,  that  glowing  gem  floating  in 
contact  with  its  waters  ;  as  if  the  humming-bird 
should  recline  its  ruby  throat  and  its  breast 
there ;  like  dipping  a  glowing  coal  in  water.  It 
so  affected  me.  Unless  you  are  thus  near,  and 
have  a  glass,  the  splendor  and  beauty  of  its 
colors  will  not  be  discovered. 

I  deal  so  much  with  my  fuel,  what  with  find 
ing  it,  loading  it,  conveying  it  home,  sawing  and 
splitting  it,  get  so  many  values  out  of  it,  that 
the  heat  it  will  yield  when  in  the  stove  is  of  a 
lower  temperature  and  less  value  in  my  eyes, 
though  when  I  feel  it  I  am  reminded  of  all  my 


242  AUTUMN. 

adventures.  I  just  turned  to  put  in  a  stick.  I 
had  my  choice  in  the  box  of  gray  chestnut  rail, 
black  and  brown  snag  of  an  oak  stump,  dead 
white  pine  top,  or  else  old  bridge  plank,  and 
chose  the  last.  Yes,  I  lose  sight  of  the  ultimate 
uses  of  the  wood  and  work,  the  immediate  ones 
are  so  great,  and  yet  most  of  mankind,  those 
called  most  successful  in  obtaining  the  neces 
saries  of  life,  getting  a  living,  obtain  none  of 
this  except  a  mere  vulgar  and  perhaps  stupefy 
ing  warmth.  I  feel  disposed,  to  this  extent,  to 
do  the  getting  a  living  and  the  living  for  any 
three  or  four  of  my  neighbors  who  really  want 
the  fuel  and  will  appreciate  the  act,  now  that  I 
have  supplied  myself.  I  affect  what  would  com 
monly  be  called  a  mean  and  miserable  way  of 
living.  I  thoroughly  sympathize  with  all  sav 
ages  and  gypsies  in  as  far  as  they  assert  the 
original  right  of  man  to  the  productions  of  Na 
ture  and  a  place  in  her. 

Nov.  9,  1857.  Mr.  [Jacob]  Farmer  tells  me 
that  one  Sunday  he  went  to  his  barn,  having 
nothing  to  do,  and  thought  he  would  watch  the 
swallows,  republican  swallows.  The  old  bird 
was  feeding  her  young,  and  he  sat  within  fifteen 
feet,  overlooking  them.  There  were  five  young, 
and  as  often  as  the  bird  came  with  a  fly,  the  one 
at  the  door  or  opening  took  it,  and  then  they  all 
hitched  round  one  notch,  so  that  a  new  one  was 


AUTUMN.  243 

presented  at  the  door,  who  received  the  next  fly, 
and  this  was  the  invariable  order,  the  same  one 
never  receiving  two  flies  in  succession.  At  last 
the  old  bird  brought  a  very  small  fly,  and  the 
young  one  that  swallowed  it  did  not  desert  his 
ground,  but  waited  to  receive  the  next,  but 
when  the  bird  came  with  another  of  the  usual 
size,  she  commenced  a  loud  and  long  scolding  at 
the  little  one,  till  it  resigned  its  place,  and  the 
next  in  succession  received  the  fly. 

Nov.  9,  1858.  The  newspaper  tells  me  that 
Uncannoonuc  was  white  with  snow  for  a  short 
time  on  the  morning  of  the  7th.  Thus  steadily 
but  unobserved  the  winter  steals  down  from  the 
north  till  from  our  highest  hills  we  can  discern 
its  vanguard.  Next  week  perchance  our  own  hills 
will  be  white.  Little  did  we  think  how  near 
the  winter  was.  It  is  as  if  a  scout  had  brought 
us  word  that  an  enemy  was  approaching  in 
force,  only  a  day's  march  distant.  Manchester 
was  the  spy  this  time,  who  has  a  camp  at  the 
base  of  that  hill.  We  had  not  thought  seri 
ously  of  winter,  we  dwelt  in  fancied  security  yet. 

It  is  of  no  use  to  plow  deeper  than  the  soil  is, 
unless  you  mean  to  follow  up  that  mode  of  culti 
vation  persistently,  manuring  highly  and  carting 
in  muck,  at  each  plowing  making  a  soil,  in  short. 
Yet  many  a  man  likes  to  tackle  weighty  themes 
like  immortality,  but  in  his  discourse  he  turns 


244  AUTUMN. 

up  nothing  but  yellow  sand,  under  which  what 
little  fertile  and  available  surface  soil  he  may 
have  is  quite  buried  and  lost.  He  should  teach 
frugality  rather,  how  to  postpone  the  fatal  hour  ; 
should  plant  a  crop  of  beans.  He  might  have 
raised  enough  of  them  to  make  a  deacon  of  him, 
though  never  a  preacher.  Many  a  man  runs 
his  plow  so  deep  in  heavy  or  strong  soil  that 
it  sticks  fast  in  the  furrow.  It  is  a  great  art 
in  the  writer  to  improve  from  day  to  day  just 
that  soil  and  fertility  which  he  has,  to  harvest 
that  crop  which  his  life  yields,  whatever  it  may 
be,  not  be  straining  as  if  to  reach  apples  and 
oranges  when  he  yields  only  ground-nuts.  He 
should  be  digging,  not  soaring.  Just  as  earnest 
as  your  life  is,  so  deep  is  your  soil.  If  strong 
and  deep,  you  will  sow  wheat  and  raise  bread  of 
life  in  it. 

Now.  10,  1851.  It  appears  to  me  that  those 
things  which  most  engage  the  daily  attention  of 
men,  as  politics,  for  instance,  are,  it  is  true, 
vital  functions  of  human  society,  but  should  be 
unconsciously  performed  like  the  vital  functions 
of  the  natural  body.  It  is  as  if  a  thinker  sub 
mitted  himself  to  be  rasped  by  the  great  gizzard 
of  creation.  Politics  is,  as  it  were,  the  gizzard 
of  society,  full  of  grit  and  gravel,  and  the  two 
political  parties  are  its  two  opposite  halves  which 
grind  on  each  other.  Not  only  individuals,  but 


AUTUMN.  245 

states,  have  thus  a  confirmed  dyspepsia,  which 
expresses  itself,  you  can  imagine  by  what  sort 
of  eloquence.  Our  life  is  not  altogether  a  for 
getting,  but  also,  to  a  great  extent,  a  remember 
ing  of  that  which,  perchance,  we  should  never 
have  been  conscious  of,  which  should  not  be 
permitted  to  distract  a  man's  waking  hours. 
Why  should  we  not  meet,  not  always  as  dys 
peptics,  but  sometimes  as  eupeptics?  In  our 
intercourse  we  refer  to  no  true  and  absolute 
account  of  things,  but  there  is  ever  a  petty  ref 
erence  to  man,  to  society,  aye,  often  to  Christi 
anity.  I  come  from  the  funeral  of  mankind  to 
attend  to  a  natural  phenomenon.  The  signifi 
cance  of  any  fact  in  nature,  of  sun  and  moon 
and  stars,  is  so  much  grander  when  not  referred 
to  man  and  his  needs,  but  viewed  absolutely. 
Then  we  catch  sounds  which  are  wafted  from 
over  the  confines  of  time. 

Nov.  10,  1858.  Hearing  in  an  oak  wood 
near  by  a  sound  as  if  some  one  had  broken  a 
twig,  I  looked  up  and  saw  a  jay,  pecking  at  an 
acorn.  There  were  several  of  them  gathering- 
acorns  on  a  scarlet  oak.  I  could  hear  them 
breaking  them  off.  They  then  flew  to  a  suit 
able  limb,  and  placing  the  acorn  under  one 
foot,  hammered  away  at  it  busily,  looking  round 
from  time  to  time  to  see  if  any  foe  was  ap 
proaching,  and  soon  reached  the  meat,  and  nib- 


246  AUTUMN. 

bled  at  it,  holding  up  their  heads  to  swallow, 
while  they  held  it  very  firmly  with  their  claws. 
(Their  hammering  made  a  sound  like  the  wood 
pecker's.)  Nevertheless,  it  sometimes  dropped 
to  the  ground  before  they  had  done  with  it. 

Nov.  11,  1850.  This  afternoon  I  heard  a  sin 
gle  cricket  singing,  chirruping  on  a  bank,  the 
only  one  I  have  heard  for  a  long  time,  like  a 
squirrel,  or  a  little  bird,  clear  and  shrill,  —  as  I 
fancied,  like  an  evening  robin,  singing  in  this 
evening  of  the  year.  A  very  fine  and  poetical 
strain  for  such  a  little  singer.  I  had  never  be 
fore  heard  the  cricket  so  like  a  bird.  It  is  a 
remarkable  note,  the  earth-song. 

That  delicate,  waving,  feathery  dry  grass 
which  I  saw  yesterday  is  to  be  remembered  with 
the  autumn.  The  dry  grasses  are  not  dead  for 
me.  A  beautiful  form  has  as  much  life  at  one 
season  as  at  another. 

I  notice  that  everywhere  in  the  pastures  mi 
nute  young  fragrant  life-everlasting  with  only 
four  or  five  flat-lying  leaves  and  thread-like 
roots,  all  together  as  big  as  a  fourpence,  spots 
the  ground,  like  winter  rye  and  grass  which 
roots  itself  in  the  fall  against  another  year. 
These  little  things  have  bespoken  their  places 
for  the  next  season.  They  have  a  little  pallet 
of  cotton  or  down  in  their  centres,  ready  for  an 
early  start  in  the  spring. 


AUTUMN.  247 

I  saw  an  old  bone  in  the  woods  covered  with 
lichens,  which  looked  like  the  bone  of  an  old 
settler,  which  yet  some  little  animal  had  recently 
gnawed.  I  saw  plainly  the  marks  of  its  teeth, 
so  indefatigable  is  nature  to  strip  the  flesh  from 
bones,  and  return  them  to  dust  again.  No  lit 
tle  rambling  beast  can  go  by  some  dry  and  an 
cient  bone,  but  he  must  turn  aside  and  try  his 
teeth  upon  it.  An  old  bone  is  knocked  about 
till  it  becomes  dust ;  nature  has  no  mercy  on  it. 
It  was  quite  too  ancient  to  suggest  disagreeable 
associations.  It  survives  like  the  memory  of 
a  man.  With  time  all  that  was  personal  and 
offensive  wears  off.  The  tooth  of  envy  may 
sometimes  gnaw  it  and  reduce  it  more  rapidly, 
but  it  is  much  more  a  prey  to  forgetfulness. 

Nov.  11,  1851.  2  P.  M.  A  bright,  but  cold 
day,  finger-cold.  One  must  next  wear  gloves, 
put  his  hands  in  winter  quarters.  There  is  a 
cold,  silvery  light  on  the  white  pines  as  I  go 
through  J.  P.  Brown's  field  near  Jenny  Du- 
gan's.  I  am  glad  of  the  shelter  of  the  thick  pine 
wood  on  the  Marlboro'  road,  on  the  plain.  The 
roar  of  the  wind  over  the  pines  sounds  like  the 
surf  on  countless  beaches,  an  endless  shore,  and 
at  intervals  it  sounds  like  a  gong  resounding 
through  halls  and  entries,  that  is,  there  is  a  cer 
tain  resounding  woodiness  in  the  tone.  The  sky 
looks  mild  and  fair  enough  from  this  shelter. 


248  AUTUMN. 

Every  withered  blade  of  grass  and  every  dry 
weed  as  well  as  pine  needle,  reflects  the  light. 
The  lately  dark  woods  are  open  and  light,  the 
sun  shines  in  upon  the  stems  of  trees  which  it 
has  not  shone  on  since  spring.  Around  the 
edges  of  ponds  the  weeds  are  dead,  and  there, 
too,  the  light  penetrates.  The  atmosphere  is 
less  moist  and  gross,  and  light  is  universally  dis 
persed.  We  are  greatly  indebted  to  these  trans 
ition  seasons  or  states  of  the  atmosphere,  which 
show  us  thus  phenomena  that  belong  not  to 
the  summer  or  the  winter  of  any  climate.  The 
brilliancy  of  the  autumn  is  wonderful,  this  flash 
ing  brilliancy,  as  if  the  atmosphere  were  phos 
phoric. 

When  I  have  been  confined  to  my  chamber 
for  the  greater  part  of  several  days  by  some  em 
ployment  or  perchance  by  the  ague,  till  I  felt 
weary  and  house-worn,  I  have  been  conscious  of 
a  certain  softness  to  which  I  am  otherwise  com 
monly  a  stranger,  in  which  the  gates  were  loos 
ened  to  some  emotions  ;  and  if  I  were  to  become 
a  confirmed  invalid,  I  see  how  some  sympathy 
with  mankind  and  society  might  spring  up.  Yet 
what  is  my  softness  good  for,  even  to  tears  ?  It 
is  not  I,  but  nature  in  me.  I  laughed  at  myself 
the  other  day  to  think  that  I  cried  while  read 
ing  a  pathetic  story.  I  was  no  more  affected 
in  spirit  than  I  frequently  am,  inethinks.  The 


AUTUMN.  249 

tears  were  merely  a  phenomenon  of  the  bowels, 
and  I  felt  that  that  expression  of  my  sym 
pathy,  so  unusual  with  me,  was  something 
mean,  and  such  as  I  should  be  ashamed  to  have 
the  subject  of  it  understand. 

To-day  you  may  write  a  chapter  on  the  advan 
tages  of  traveling,  and  to-morrow  you  may  write 
another  on  the  advantages  of  not  traveling.  The 
horizon  has  one  kind  of  beauty  and  attraction  to 
him  who  has  never  explored  the  hills  and  moun 
tains  in  it,  and  another,  I  fear  a  less  ethereal 
and  glorious  one,  to  him  who  has.  That  blue 
mountain  in  the  horizon  is  certainly  the  most 
heavenly,  the  most  elysian,  which  we  have  not 
climbed,  on  which  we  have  not  camped  for  a 
night.  But  our  horizon,  by  such  exploration,  is 
only  moved  farther  off,  and  if  our  whole  life 
should  prove  thus  a  failure,  the  future  which  is 
to  atone  for  all,  where  still  there  must  be  some 
success,  will  be  more  glorious  still. 

It  is  fatal  to  the  writer  to  be  too  much  pos 
sessed  by  his  thought ;  things  must  be  a  little 
remote  to  be  described. 

Nov.  11,  1853.  9  A.  M.  To  Fair  Haven  by 
boat.  The  morning  is  so  calm  and  pleasant, 
that  I  must  spend  the  forenoon  abroad.  The 
river  is  smooth  as  polished  silver.  Some  musk- 
rat  houses  have  received  a  slight  addition  in  the 
night.  The  one  I  opened  day  before  yesterday 


250  AUTUMN. 

has  been  covered  again,  though  not  yet  raised 
so  high  as  before.  I  counted  nineteen  between 
Hubbard  bathing  place  and  Hubbard's  further 
wood,  this  side  the  Hallowell  place,  from  two  to 
four  feet  high.  I  opened  one.  The  floor  of  the 
chamber  was  two  feet  or  more  beneath  the  top, 
and  one  foot  above  the  water.  It  was  quite 
warm  from  the  recent  presence  of  the  inhabitants. 

Nov.  11,  1854.  Minott  heard  geese  go  over 
night  before  last  about  8  P.  M.  Therien,  too, 
heard  them  "  yelling  like  anything  "  over  Wai- 
den,  where  he  is  cutting,  the  same  evening. 

Nov.  11,  1855.  P.  M.  Up  Assabet.  The 
bricks  of  which  the  muskrat  builds  his  house 
are  little  masses  or  wads  of  the  dead  weedy  rub 
bish  on  the  muddy  bottom  which  it  probably 
takes  up  with  its  mouth.  It  consists  of  various 
kinds  of  weeds,  now  confervae  by  the  slime, 
agglutinated  and  dried  converbal  threads,  utri- 
cularia,  horn  wort,  etc.,  —  a  streaming,  tuft-like 
wad.  The  building  of  these  cabins  appears  to 
be  coincident  with  the  commencement  of  their 
clam  diet,  for  now  their  vegetable  food,  except 
ing  roots,  is  cut  off.  I  see  many  small  collections 
of  shells  already  left  along  the  river's  brink. 
Thither  they  resort  with  their  clam,  to  open  and 
eat  it.  But  if  it  is  the  edge  of  a  meadow  which 
is  being  overflowed,  they  must  raise  it,  and  make 
a  permanent  dry  stool  there,  for  they  cannot 


AUTUMN.  251 

afford  to  swim  far  with  each  clam.  I  see  where 
one  has  left  half  a  peck  of  shells  on  perhaps 
the  foundation  of  an  old  stool  or  a  harder  clod 
which  the  water  is  just  about  to  cover.  He  has 
begun  his  stool  by  laying  two  or  three  fresh  wads 
upon  the  shells,  the  foundation  of  his  house. 
Thus  their  cabin  is  apparently  first  intended 
merely  for  a  stool,  and  afterward,  when  it  is 
large,  perforated  as  if  it  were  the  bank !  There 
is  no  cabin  for  a  long  way  above  the  hemlocks, 
where  there  is  no  low  meadow  bordering  the 
stream. 

Nov.  11,  1858.  Goodwin  brings  me  this 
morning  a  this  year's  loon  which  he  has  just 
killed  in  the  river,  the  Great  Northern  Diver, 
but  a  smaller  specimen  than  Wilson  describes, 
and  somewhat  differently  marked.  It  is  twenty- 
seven  inches  long  to  end  of  feet,  by  forty-four, 
bill  three  and  three  fourths  to  angle  of  mouth. 
Above,  bluish  gray,  with  small  white  spots  (two 
at  end  of  each  feather).  Beneath,  pure  white, 
throat  and  all,  except  a  dusky  bar  across  the 
vent.  Bill,  chiefly  pale  bluish  and  dusky.  You 
are  struck  by  its  broad,  flat,  sharp-edged  legs, 
made  to  cut  through  the  water  rather  than  to 
walk  with,  set  far  back  and  naturally  stretched 
out  backward,  its  long  and  powerful  bill,  con 
spicuous  white  throat  and  breast.  Dislodged  by 
winter  in  the  north,  it  is  slowly  traveling  toward 


252  AUTUMN. 

a  warmer  climate,  diving  this  morning  in  the 
cool  river,  which  is  now  full  of  light,  the  trees 
and  shrubs  on  its  bank  having  long  since  lost 
their  leaves.  The  neighboring  fields  are  white 
with  frost.  Yet  this  hardy  bird  is  comfortable 
and  contented  there,  if  the  sportsmen  will  let  it 
alone. 

Nov.  11,  1859.  October  24,  riding  home 
from  Acton,  I  saw  the  withered  leaves  blown 
from  an  oak  by  the  roadside,  dashing  off,  gyrat 
ing,  and  surging  upward  into  the  air,  so  exactly 
like  a  flock  of  birds  sporting  with  one  another, 
that  for  a  moment,  at  least,  I  could  not  be  sure 
they  were  not  birds,  and  it  suggested  how  far 
the  motions  of  birds,  like  those  of  these  leaves, 
might  be  determined  by  currents  of  air,  that  is, 
how  far  the  bird  learns  to  conform  to  such  cur 
rents. 

Nov.  12,  1837.  I  yet  lack  discernment  to 
distinguish  the  whole  lesson  of  to-day,  but  it  is 
not  lost,  it  will  come  to  me  at  last.  My  desire 
is  to  know  what  I  have  lived,  that  I  may  know 
how  to  live  henceforth. 

Nov.  12  [?],  1841.  Music  is  only  a  sweet 
striving  to  express  character.  Now  that  lately 
I  have  heard  of  some  traits  in  the  character  of  a 
fair  and  earnest  maiden  whom  I  had  known 
only  superficially,  but  who  has  gone  hence  to 
make  herself  more  known  by  distance,  these 


AUTUMN.  253 

strains  sound  like  a  wild  harp  music.  There  is 
apology  enough  for  all  the  deficiency  and  short 
coming  in  the  world  in  the  patient  waiting  of 
any  bud  of  character  to  unfold  itself. 

Only  character  can   command   our   reverent 
love.     It  is  all  mysteries  in  itself. 

What  is  it  gilds  the  trees  and  clouds, 
And  paints  the  heavens  so  gay, 
But  yonder  fast-abiding  light 
With  its  unchanging  ray. 

I  've  felt  within  ray  inmost  soul 
Such  cheerful  morning  news, 
In  the  horizon  of  my  mind 
I  've  seen  such  morning  hues, 

As  in  the  twilight  of  the  dawn 
When  the  first  birds  awake, 
Is  heard  within  some  silent  wood 
When  they  the  small  twigs  break ; 

Or  in  the  eastern  skies  is  seen 
Before  the  sun  appears, 
Foretelling  of  the  summer  heats 
Which  far  away  he  bears. 

Walden.  p.  M.  I  seem  to  discern  the  very 
form  of  the  wind  when,  blowing  over  the  hills, 
it  falls  in  broad  flakes  upon  the  surface  of  the 
pond,  this  subtle  element  obeying  the  law  of  the 
least  subtle.  I  cannot  but  be  encouraged  by 
the  blithe  activity  of  the  elements.  Who  hears 
the  rippling  of  the  rivers  will  not  utterly  de 
spair  of  anything.  The  wind  in  the  wood  yonder 


254  AUTUMN. 

sounds    like   an    incessant  waterfall,  the  water 
dashing  and  roaring  among  the  rocks. 

Nov.  12,  1851.  Write  often,  write  upon  a 
thousand  themes,  rather  than  long  at  a  time,  not 
trying  to  turn  too  many  feeble  summersets  in 
the  air,  and  so  come  down  upon  your  head  at 
last.  Antaeus-like,  be  not  long  absent  from  the 
ground.  Those  sentences  are  good  and  well- 
discharged  which  are  like  so  many  little  resili 
ences  from  the  spring-floor  of  our  life,  each  a 
distinct  fruit  and  kernel  springing  from  terra 
firma.  Let  there  be  as  many  distinct  plants  as 
the  soil  and  the  light  can  maintain.  Take  as 
many  bounds  in  a  day  as  possible,  sentences 
uttered  with  your  back  to  the  wall.  Those  are 
the  admirable  bounds  when  the  performer  has 
lately  touched  the  spring-board.  A  good  bound 
into  the  air  from  the  air  is  a  good  and  whole 
some  experience,  but  what  shall  we  say  to  a 
man's  leaping  off  precipices  in  the  attempt  to 
fly.  He  comes  down  like  lead.  But  let  your 
feet  be  planted  upon  the  rock,  with  the  rock 
also  at  your  back,  and  as  in  the  case  of  King 
James  and  Roderick  Dhu,  you  can  say,  — 

"  Come  one,  come  all,  this  rock  shall  fly 
From  its  firm  base,  as  soon  as  I." 

Such,  uttered  or  not,  is  the  strength  of  your 
sentences,  sentences  in  which  there  is  no  strain, 
no  fluttering  inconstant  and  quasi  aspiration, 


AUTUMN.  255 

and  ever  memorable  Icarian  fall  wherein  your 
helpless  wings  are  expanded  merely  by  your 
swift  descent  into  the  pelagos  beneath. 

is  one  who  will  not  stoop  to  rise.  He 

wants  something  for  which  he  will  not  pay 
the  going  price.  He  will  only  learn  slowly 
by  failure,  not  a  noble,  but  disgraceful  failure. 
This  is  not  a  worthy  method  of  learning,  to  be 
educated  by  evitable  suffering,  like  De  Quincey, 
for  instance.  Better  dive  like  a  muskrat  into 
the  mud,  and  pull  up  a  few  weeds  to  sit  on 
during  the  floods,  a  foundation  of  your  own 
laying,  a  house  of  your  own  building,  however 
cold  and  cheerless.  Methinks  the  hawk  that 
soars  so  loftily,  and  circles  so  steadily  and  ap 
parently  without  effort,  has  earned  this  power 
by  faithfully  creeping  on  the  ground  as  a  rep 
tile  in  a  former  state  of  existence.  You  must 
creep  before  you  can  run,  you  must  run  before 
you  can  fly.  Better  one  effective  bound  upward 
with  elastic  limbs  from  the  valley,  than  a  jump 
ing  from  the  mountain-tops  with  attempt  to  fly. 
The  observatories  are  not  built  high,  but  deep. 
The  foundation  is  equal  to  the  superstructure. 
It  is  more  important  to  a  distinct  vision  that  it 
be  steady,  than  that  it  be  from  an  elevated  point 
of  view. 

Walking  through  Ebby  Hubbard's  wood  this 
afternoon  with  Minott,  who  was  actually  taking 


256  AUTUMN. 

a  walk  for  amusement  and  exercise,  he  said,  on 
seeing  some  white  pines  blown  down,  that  you 
might  know  that  ground  had  been  cultivated, 
for  otherwise  they  would  have  rooted  themselves 
more  strongly.  .  .  .  He  has  a  story  for  every 
woodland  path.  He  has  hunted  in  them  all. 
Where  we  walked  last,  he  had  once  caught  a 
partridge  by  the  wing. 

7  P.  M.  To  Conantum.  A  still  cold  night. 
The  light  of  the  rising  moon  in  the  east.  The 
ground  is  frozen  and  echoes  to  my  tread.  There 
are  absolutely  no  crickets  to  be  heard  now. 
They  are  heard,  then,  till  the  ground  freezes.  I 
hear  no  sound  of  any  kind  now  at  night,  but 
sometimes  some  creature  stirring,  a  rabbit,  or 
skunk,  or  fox,  betrayed  by  the  dry  leaves  which 
lie  so  thick  and  light.  The  openness  of  the 
leafless  woods  is  particularly  apparent  now  by 
moonlight ;  they  are  nearly  as  light  as  the  open 
field.  It  is  worth  the  while  always  to  go  to 
the  water,  when  there  is  but  little  light  in  the 
heavens,  and  see  the  heavens  and  the  stars  re 
flected.  There  is  double  the  light  that  there  is 
elsewhere,  and  the  reflection  has  the  force  of  a 
great  silent  companion.  I  thought  to-night  that 
I  saw  glow-worms  in  the  grass  on  the  side  of 
the  hill,  was  almost  certain  of  it,  and  tried  to 
lay  my  hands  on  them,  but  found  it  was  the 
moonlight  reflected  from  (apparently)  the  fine 


AUTUMN.  257 

frost  crystals  on  the  withered  grass.  They 
were  so  fine  that  the  reflections  went  and  came 
like  glow-worms.  The  gleams  were  just  long 
enough  for  glow-worms,  and  the  effect  was  pre 
cisely  the  same. 

Nov.  12,  1852.  4  p.  M.  To  Cliffs.  It  clears 
up.  A  very  bright  rainbow,  three  reds,  two 
greens.  I  see  its  foot  within  half  a  mile  in  the 
southeast,  heightening  the  green  of  the  pines. 
From  Fair  Haven  Hill,  I^see  a  very  distant,  long, 
low,  dark-blue  cloud  still  left  in  the  northwest 
horizon,  beyond  the  mountains,  and  against  this 
I  see,  apparently,  a  narrow  white  cloud  resting 
on  every  mountain,  and  conforming  exactly  to  its 
outline,  as  if  the  white,  frilled  edge  of  the  main 
cloud  were  turned  up  over  them.  In  fact,  the 
massive  dark-blue  cloud  beyond  revealed  these 
distinct  white  caps  resting  on  the  mountains  this 
side,  for  twenty  miles  along  the  horizon. 

The  sun  having  set,  my  long,  dark-blue  cloud 
has  assumed  the  form  of  an  alligator,  and  where 
the  sun  has  just  disappeared  it  is  split  into  two 
tremendous  jaws,  between  which  glows  the  eter 
nal  city,  its  crenate  lips  all  coppery-golden,  its 
serrate  fiery  teeth.  Its  body  lies  a  slumbering 
mass  along  the  horizon. 

Nov.  12,  1853.  I  cannot  but  regard  it  as  a 
kindness  in  those  who  have  the  steering  of  me, 
that  by  the  want  of  pecuniary  wealth,  I  have 


258  AUTUMN. 

been  nailed  down  to  this  my  native  region  so 
long  and  steadily,  and  made  to  study  and  love 
this  spot  of  earth  more  and  more.  What  would 
signify  in  comparison  a  thin  and  diffused  love 
and  knowledge  of  the  whole  earth  instead,  got 
by  wandering  ?  Wealth  will  not  buy  a  man  a 
home  in  nature.  The  man  of  business  does  not 
by  his  business  earn  a  residence  in  nature.  It 
is  an  insignificant,  a  merely  negative  good  to  be 
provided  with  thick  garments  against  cold  and 
wet,  an  unprofitable  and  weak  condition  com 
pared  with  being  able  to  extract  some  exhilara 
tion,  some  warmth  even,  out  of  cold  and  wet 
themselves,  and  to  clothe  them  with  our  sym 
pathy.  The  rich  man  buys  woolens  and  furs, 
and  sits  naked  and  shivering  still,  in  spirit,  but 
the  poor  lord  of  creation  makes  cold  and  wet  to 
warm  him,  and  be  his  garments. 

The  hylodes,  as  it  is  the  first  frog  heard  in  the 
spring,  so  it  is  the  last  in  the  autumn.  I  heard 
it  last,  I  think,  about  a  month  ago.  I  do  not 
remember  any  hum  of  insects  for  a  long  time, 
though  I  heard  a  cricket  to-day. 

Nov.  12,  1858.  It  is  much  the  coldest  day 
yet,  and  the  ground  is  a  little  frozen  and  re 
sounds  under  my  tread.  All  people  move  the 
brisker  for  the  cold,  are  braced  and  a  little 
elated  by  it.  They  love  to  say,  "  Cold  day,  sir." 
Though  the  days  are  shorter,  you  get  more  work 


AUTUMN.  259 

out  of  a  hired  man  than  before,  for  he  must  work 
to  keep  warm.  .  .  .  We  are  now  reduced  to 
browsing  on  buds  and  twigs,  and  methinks  with 
this  diet  and  this  cold,  we  shall  appear  to  the 
stall-fed  thinkers  like  those  unkempt  cattle  in 
meadows  now,  grazing  the  withered  grass. 

I  think  the  change  to  some  higher  color  in  a 
leaf  is  an  evidence  that  it  has  arrived  at  a  late, 
more  perfect,  and  final  maturity,  answering  to 
the  maturity  of  fruits,  and  not  to  that  of  green 
leaves,  etc.,  which  merely  serve  a  purpose.  The 
word  ripe  is  thought  by  some  to  be  derived  from 
the  verb  to  reap,  so  that  what  is  ripe  is  ready  to 
be  reaped.  The  fall  of  the  leaf  is  preceded  by 
a  ripe  old  age. 

Nov.  12,  1859.  The  first  sprinkling  of  snow, 
which  for  a  short  time  whitens  the  ground  in 
spots. 

I  do  not  know  how  to  distinguish  between  our 
waking  life  and  a  dream.  Are  we  not  always 
living  the  life  that  we  imagine  we  are  ?  Fear 
creates  danger,  and  courage  dispels  it. 

There  was  a  remarkable  sunset,  I  think  the 
twenty -fifth  of  October.  The  sunset  sky 
reached  quite  from  west  to  east,  and  it  was  the 
most  varied  in  its  forms  and  colors  that  I  re 
member  to  have  seen.  At  one  time  the  clouds 
were  softly  and  delicately  rippled  like  the  ripple 
marks  on  sand.  But  it  was  hard  for  me  to  see 


260  AUTUMN. 

its  beauty  then,  when  my  mind  was  filled  with 
Captain  Brown.  So  great  a  wrong  as  his  fate 
implied  overshadowed  all  beauty  in  the  world. 

Nov.  13,  1837.  Sin  destroys  the  perception 
of  the  beautiful.  It  is  a  sure  evidence  of  the 
health  and  innocence  of  the  beholder,  if  the 
senses  are  alive  to  the  beauty  of  nature.  This 
shall  be  the  test  of  innocence,  if  I  can  hear  a 
taunt,  and  look  out  on  this  friendly  moon  pacing 
the  heavens  in  queen-like  majesty,  with  the 
accustomed  yearning. 

Truth  is  ever  returning  into  herself.  I  glimpse 
one  feature  to-day,  another  to-morrow,  and  the 
next  day  they  are  blended. 

Nov.  13,  1839.  Make  the  most  of  your  re 
grets.  Never  smother  your  sorrow,  but  tend 
and  cherish  it,  till  it  come  to  have  a  separate 
and  integral  interest.  To  regret  deeply  is  to 
live  afresh.  By  so  doing  you  will  find  yourself 
restored  to  all  your  emoluments. 

Nov.  13  [?],  1841.  We  constantly  anticipate 
repose.  Yet  it  surely  can  only  be  the  repose 
that  is  in  entire  and  healthy  activity.  It  must 
be  a  repose  without  rust.  What  is  leisure  but 
opportunity  for  more  complete  and  entire  ac 
tion?  Our  energies  pine  for  exercise.  The 
time  we  spend  in  the  discharge  of  our  duties 
is  so  much  leisure,  so  that  there  is  no  man  but 
has  sufficient  of  it. 


AUTUMN.  261 

This  ancient  Scotch  poetry  at  which  its  con 
temporaries  so  marveled,  sounds  like  the  uncer 
tain  lisping  of  a  child.  When  man's  speech 
flows  freest,  it  but  stammers.  There  is  never  a 
free  and  clear  deliverance ;  but  read  now  when 
the  illusion  of  smooth  verse  is  destroyed  by  the 
antique  spelling,  and  the  sense  is  seen  to  stam 
mer  and  stumble  all  the  plainer.  To  how  few 
thoughts  do  all  these  sincere  efforts  give  utter 
ance?  An  hour's  conversation  with  these  men 
would  have  done  more.  I  am  astonished  to  see 
how  meagre  that  diet  is  which  has  fed  so  many 
men.  The  music  of  sound,  which  is  all-sufficient 
at  first,  is  speedily  lost,  and  then  the  fame  of  the 
poet  must  rest  on  the  music  of  the  sense.  A 
great  philosophical  and  moral  poet  would  give 
permanence  to  the  language  by  making  the  best 
sound  convey  the  best  sense. 

Nov.  13, 1851.  To  Fair  Haven  Hill.  A  cold 
and  dark  afternoon,  the  sun  being  behind  clouds 
in  the  west.  The  landscape  is  barren  of  objects, 
the  trees  being  leafless,  and  so  little  light  in  the 
sky  for  variety  ;  such  a  day  as  will  almost  oblige 
a  man  to  eat  his  own  heart,  a  day  in  which  you 
must  hold  on  to  life  by  your  teeth.  Now  is  the 
time  to  cut  timber  for  yokes  and  ox-bows,  leav 
ing  the  tough  bark  on,  yokes  for  your  own  neck, 
finding  yourself  yoked  to  matter  and  to  time. 
Truly  hard  times,  these  !  Not  a  mosquito  left, 


262  AUTUMN. 

not  an  insect  to  hum.  Crickets  gone  into  win 
ter  quarters.  Friends  long  since  gone  there,  and 
you  left  to  walk  on  frozen  ground  with  your  hands 
in  your  pockets.  Ah,  but  is  not  this  a  glorious 
time  for  your  deep  inward  fires  ?  Will  not  your 
green  hickory  and  white  oak  burn  clear  in  this 
frosty  air  ?  Now  is  not  your  manhood  taxed  by 
the  great  Assessor  ?  taxed  for  having  a  soul,  a 
rateable  soul  ?  A  day  when  you  cannot  pluck  a 
flower,  cannot  dig  a  parsnip,  nor  pull  a  turnip, 
for  the  frozen  ground.  What  do  the  thoughts 
find  to  live  on  ?  What  avails  you  now  the  fire 
you  stole  from  heaven  ?  Does  not  each  thought 
become  a  vulture  to  gnaw  your  vitals  ?  No  In 
dian  summer  have  we  had  this  November.  I 
see  but  few  traces  of  the  perennial  spring.  We 
have  not  even  the  cold  beauty  of  ice  crystals 
and  snowy  architecture.  Nothing  but  the  echo 
of  your  steps  on  the  frozen  ground,  which,  it  is 
true,  is  being  prepared  for  immeasurable  snows. 
Still  there  are  brave  thoughts  within  you  that 
shall  remain  to  rustle  the  winter  through,  like 
white-oak  leaves  upon  your  boughs,  or  like  shrub 
oaks  that  remind  the  traveler  of  a  fire  upon  the 
hillsides,  or  evergreen  thoughts,  cold  even  in 
midsummer,  by  their  nature.  These  shall  con 
trast  the  more  fairly  with  the  snow.  Some 
warm  springs  shall  still  tinkle  and  fume,  and 
send  their  column  of  vapor  to  the  skies. 


AUTUMN.  263 

The  mountains  are  of  an  uncommonly  dark 
blue  to-day.  Perhaps  this  is  owing  not  only  to 
the  great  clearness  of  the  atmosphere,  which 
makes  them  seem  nearer,  but  to  the  absence  of 
the  leaves.  A  little  mistiness  occasioned  by 
warmth  would  set  them  further  off.  I  see  snow 
on  the  Peterboro'  Hills  reflecting  the  sun.  It  is 
pleasant  thus  to  look  from  afar  into  winter.  We 
look  at  a  condition  which  we  have  not  reached. 
Notwithstanding  the  poverty  of  the  immediate 
landscape,  in  the  horizon  it  is  simplicity  and  gran 
deur.  I  look  into  valleys  white  with  snow  and 
now  lit  up  by  the  sun,  while  all  this  country  is 
in  shade.  There  is  a  great  gap  in  the  mountain 
range  just  south  of  the  two  Peterboro'  Hills. 
Methinks  I  have  been  through  it,  and  that  a  road 
runs  there.  Humble  as  these  mountains  are 
compared  with  some,  at  this  distance  I  am  con 
vinced  they  answer  the  purpose  of  Andes.  Seen 
at  this  distance,  I  know  of  nothing  more  grand 
and  stupendous  than  that  great  mountain  gate 
or  pass,  a  great  cleft  or  sinus  in  the  blue  banks, 
as  in  a  dark  evening  cloud,  fit  portal  to  lead 
from  one  country,  from  one  quarter  of  the  world 
to  another,  where  the  children  of  Israel  might 
file  through.  Little  does  the  New  Hampshire 
farmer  who  drives  over  that  road  realize  through 
what  a  sublime  gap  he  is  passing.  You  would 
almost  as  soon  think  of  a  road  as  winding 


264  AUTUMN. 

through  and  over  a  dark  evening  cloud.  This 
prospect  of  the  mountains  from  our  low  hills  is 
what  I  would  rather  have  than  pastures  on  the 
mountain-side  such  as  my  neighbors  have,  aye, 
than  townships  at  their  base.  Instead  of  driv 
ing  my  cattle  up  there  in  May,  I  simply  turn  my 
eyes  thither.  They  pasture  there,  and  the  grass 
they  feed  on  never  withers. 

Just  spent  a  couple  of  hours  (8  to  10)  with 
Miss  Mary  Emerson  at  Holbrook's ;  the  witti 
est  and  most  vivacious  woman  I  know,  certainly 
that  woman  among  my  acquaintance  whom  it 
is  most  profitable  to  meet,  the  least  frivolous, 
who  will  most  surely  provoke  to  good  conver 
sation.  She  is  singular  among  women,  at  least, 
in  being  really  and  perseveringly  interested  to 
know  what  thoughtful  people  think.  She  re 
lates  herself  surely  to  the  intellectual  wherever 
she  goes.  It  is  perhaps  her  greatest  praise  and 
peculiarity  that  she  more  surely  than  any  other 
woman  gives  her  companion  occasion  to  utter  his 
best  thought.  In  spite  of  her  own  biases,  she 
can  entertain  a  large  thought  with  hospitality, 
and  is  not  prevented  by  any  intellectuality  in 
it,  as  women  commonly  are.  In  short,  she  is  a 
genius,  as  woman  seldom  is,  reminding  you  less 
often  of  her  sex  than  any  woman  whom  I  know. 
Thus  she  is  capable  of  a  masculine  appreciation 
of  poetry  and  philosophy.  I  never  talked  with 


AUTUMN.  265 

any  other  woman  who  I  thought  accompanied 
me  so  far  in  describing  a  poetic  experience. 
Miss  Fuller  is  the  only  other  I  think  of  in  this 
connection,  and  of  her  rather  from  her  fame 
than  from  my  knowledge  of  her.  Miss  Emer 
son  expressed  to-night  a  singular  want  of  respect 
for  her  own  sex,  saying  that  they  were  frivolous, 
almost  without  exception,  that  woman  was  the 
weaker  vessel,  etc. ;  and  that  into  whatever  fam 
ily  she  might  go,  she  depended  more  upon  the 
clown  for  society  than  upon  the  lady  of  the 
house.  Men  are  more  likely  to  have  opinions 
of  their  own. 

Just  in  proportion  to  the  outward  poverty  is 
the  inward  wealth.  In  cold  weather  fire  burns 
with  a  clearer  flame. 

Nov.  13,  1855.  In  mid  -  forenoon,  10.45, 
seventy  or  eighty  geese,  in  three  harrows,  suc 
cessively  smaller,  flying  southwest,  pretty  well 
west,  over  the  house.  A  completely  overcast, 
occasionally  drizzling  forenoon.  I  at  once  heard 
their  clangor,  and  rushed  to  and  opened  the 
window.  The  three  harrows  were  gradually 
formed  into  one  great  one,  before  they  were  out 
of  sight,  the  geese  shifting  their  places  without 
slacking  their  progress. 

p.  M.  To  Cardinal  Shore.  I  saw  in  the  pond 
by  the  roadside,  a  few  rods  before  me,  the  sun 
shining  bright,  a  mink  swimming,  the  whole 


266  AUTUMN. 

length  of  his  back  out.  It  was  a  rich  brown  fur, 
glowing  internally  as  the  sun  fell  on  it,  like  some 
ladies'  boas ;  not  black,  as  it  sometimes  appears, 
especially  on  ice.  It  landed  within  three  rods, 
showing  its  long,  somewhat  cat-like  neck,  and  I 
observed,  was  carrying  something  by  its  mouth, 
dragging  it  overland.  At  first  I  thought  it  a 
fish,  maybe  an  eeL,  and  when  it  had  got  half  a 
dozen  feet,  I  ran  forward,  and  it  dropped  its 
prey,  and  went  into  the  wall.  It  was  a  muskrat, 
the  head  and  part  of  the  legs  torn  off  and  gone, 
but  the  rest  still  fresh  and  quite  heavy,  including 
hind  legs  and  tail.  It  had  probably  killed  the 
muskrat  in  the  brook,  eaten  so  much,  and  was 
dragging  the  remainder  to  its  retreat  in  the  wall. 

JVoi'.  13,  1858.  It  is  wonderful  what  grada 
tion  and  harmony  there  is  in  nature.  The  light 
reflected  from  bare  twigs  at  this  season,  that  is, 
since  they  began  to  be  bare,  in  the  latter  part  of 
October,  is  not  unlike  that  from  gossamer,  and 
like  that  which  will  erelong  be  reflected  from 
the  ice  that  will  incrust  them.  So  the  bleached 
herbage  of  the  fields  is  like  frost,  and  frost  like 
snow,  and  one  prepares  for  the  other. 

Nw.  14  [?],  1841.  To  find  the  sunset  de 
scribed  by  the  old  Scotch  poet,  Douglas,  as  I 
have  seen  it,  repays  me  for  many  weary  pages  of 
antiquated  Scotch.  Nothing  so  restores  and  har 
monizes  antiquity  and  makes  it  blithe,  as  the 


AUTUMN.  267 

discovery  of  some  natural  sympathy.  Why  is 
it  that  there  is  something  melancholy  in  anti 
quity?  "We  forget  that  it  had  any  other  future 
than  our  present,  as  if  it  were  not  as  near  to 
the  future  as  ourselves.  No,  these  ranks  of 
men  to  right  and  left,  posterity  and  ancestry,  are 
not  to  be  thridded  by  any  earnest  mortal.  The 
heavens  stood  over  the  heads  of  our  ancestors  as 
near  as  to  us.  Any  living  word  in  their  books 
abolishes  the  difference  of  time.  It  need  only 
be  considered  from  the  present  standpoint. 

Nov.  14,  1851.  In  the  evening  I  went  to  a 
party.  It  is  a  bad  place  to  go  to,  thirty  or  forty 
persons,  mostly  young  women,  in  a  small  room, 
warm  and  noisy.  Was  introduced  to  two  young 
women.  The  first  was  as  lively  and  loquacious 
as  a  chickadee,  had  been  accustomed  to  the 
society  of  watering  places,  and  therefore  could 
get  no  refreshment  out  of  such  a  dry  fellow  as  I. 
The  other  was  said  to  be  pretty  looking,  but  I 
rarely  look  people  in  their  faces,  and,  moreover, 
I  could  not  hear  what  she  said,  there  was  such  a 
clacking  ;  could  not  see  the  motion  of  her  lips 
when  I  looked  that  way.  I  could  imagine  bet 
ter  places  for  conversation,  where  there  should 
be  a  certain  degree  of  silence  surrounding  you, 
and  less  than  forty  talking  at  once.  Why,  this 
afternoon  even  I  did  better.  Old  Mr.  Joseph 
Hosmer  and  I  ate  luncheon  of  cracker  and 


268  AUTUMN. 

cheese  together  in  the  woods.  I  heard  all  he 
said,  though  it  was  not  much,  to  be  sure,  and 
he  could  hear  me  ;  and  then  he  talked  out  of 
such  a  glorious  repose,  taking  a  leisurely  bite  at 
the  cracker  and  cheese  between  his  words,  and 
so  some  of  him  was  communicated  to  me,  and 
some  of  me  to  him,  I  trust. 

These  parties,  I  think,  are  a  part  of  the 
machinery  of  modern  society  that  young  people 
may  be  brought  together  to  form  marriage  con 
nections. 

What  is  the  use  in  going  to  see  people  whom 
yet  you  never  see,  and  who  never  see  you  ? 

I  met  a  man  yesterday  afternoon  in  the  road 
who  behaved  as  if  he  were  deaf,  and  I  talked 
with  him  in  the  cold  in  a  loud  tone  for  fifteen 
minutes,  but  that  uncertainty  about  his  ears,  and 
the  necessity  I  felt  to  talk  loudly,  took  off  the 
fine  edge  of  what  I  had  to  say,  and  prevented 
my  saying  anything  satisfactory.  It  is  bad 
enough  when  your  neighbor  does  not  understand 
you,  but  if  there  is  any  uncertainty  as  to  whether 
he  hears  you,  so  that  you  are  obliged  to  become 
your  own  auditor,  you  are  so  much  the  poorer 
speaker,  and  so  there  is  a  double  failure. 

Nov.  14,  1852.  Still,  yarrow,  tall  buttercup 
and  tansy. 

Nov.  14,  1855.  Heard  to-day  in  my  cham 
ber  about  11  A.  M.  a  singular  sharp,  crackling 


AUTUMN.  269 

sound  by  the  window,  which  made  me  think  of 
an  insect's  snapping  with  its  wings  or  striking 
something.  It  was  produced  by  one  of  three 
small  pitch-pine  cones  which  I  gathered  No 
vember  7th,  and  which  lay  in  the  sun  on  the  win 
dow-sill.  1  noticed  a  slight  motion  in  the  scales 
at  the  apex,  when  suddenly,  with  a  louder  crack 
ling,  it  burst,  or  the  scales  separated  with  a 
crackling  sound  on  all  sides  of  it.  It  was  a 
sudden  and  general  bursting  or  expanding  of  all 
the  scales  with  a  sharp,  crackling  sound,  and 
motion  of  the  whole  cone  as  by  a  force  pent  up 
within  it.  I  suppose  the  strain  only  needed  to 
be  relieved  at  one  point  for  the  whole  to  go  off. 
Nov.  14,  1857.  The  principal  flight  of  geese 
was  November  8th,  so  that  the  bulk  of  them 
preceded  this  cold  turn  five  days.  I  find  my 
hands  stiffened  and  involuntarily  finding  their 
way  to  my  pockets.  No  wonder  that  the  weather 
is  a  standing  subject  of  conversation,  since  we 
are  so  sensitive.  If  we  had  not  gone  through 
several  winters,  we  might  well  be  alarmed  at  the 
approach  of  cold  weather.  With  this  keener 
blast  my  hands  suddenly  fail  to  fulfill  their  office, 
as  it  were,  begin  to  die.  We  must  put  on  armor 
against  the  new  foe.  I  can  hardly  tie  and  untie 
my  shoestrings.  What  a  story  to  tell  an  inhab 
itant  of  the  tropics,  perchance,  that  you  went 
to  walk  after  many  months  of  warmth,  when 


270  AUTUMN. 

suddenly  the  air  became  so  cold  and  hostile  to 
your  nature  that  it  benumbed  you,  so  that  you 
lost  the  use  of  some  of  your  limbs,  could  not 
untie  your  shoestrings ! 

Nov.  14,  1858.  Now  while  the  frosty  air  be 
gins  to  nip  your  fingers  and  your  nose,  the  frozen 
ground  rapidly  wears  away  the  soles  of  your 
shoes,  as  sandpaper  might. .  The  old  she-wolf  is 
nibbling  at  your  very  extremities.  The  frozen 
ground  eating  away  the  soles  of  your  shoes  is 
only  typical  of  the  vulture  that  gnaws  your  heart 
this  month.  Now  all  that  moves  migrates  or 
has  migrated,  ducks  are  gone  by,  the  citizen  has 
sought  the  town. 

Probably  the  witch  hazel  and  many  other 
flowers  lingered  till  the  eleventh,  when  it  was 
colder.  The  last  leaves  and  flowers  (?)  may  be 
said  to  fall  about  the  middle  of  November. 

Snow  and  cold  drive  the  doves  to  your  door, 
and  so  your  thoughts  make  new  alliances. 

Nov.  14,  1860.     Yellow  butterflies  still. 

Nov.  15,  1840.  Over  and  above  a  man's 
business  there  must  be  a  level  of  undisturbed 
serenity,  only  the  more  serene,  as  he  is  the  more 
industrious,  as  within  the  reef  encircling  a  coral 
isle  there  is  always  an  expanse  of  still  water 
where  the  depositions  are  going  on  which  will 
finally  raise  it  above  the  surface.  He  must  pre 
side  over  all  he  does.  If  his  employment  rob 


AUTUMN.  271 

him  of  a  serene  outlook  over  his  life,  it  is  but 
idle,  though  it  be  measuring  the  fixed  stars.  He 
must  know  no  distracting  cares. 

The  bad  sense  is  the  secondary  one. 

Nov.  15  [?],  1841.  A  mild  summer  sun 
shines  over  forest  and  lake.  The  earth  looks  as 
fair  this  morning  as  the  Valhalla  of  the  gods. 
Indeed  our  spirits  never  go  beyond  nature.  In 
the  woods  there  is  an  inexpressible  happiness. 
Their  mirth  is  but  just  repressed.  In  winter 
when  there  is  but  one  green  leaf  for  many  rods, 
what  warm  content  is  in  them.  They  are  not 
rude,  but  tender,  even  in  the  severest  cold. 
Their  nakedness  is  their  defense.  All  their 
sights  and  sounds  are  elixir  to  my  spirit.  They 
possess  a  choice  health.  God  is  not  more  well. 
Every  sound  is  inspiriting,  and  fraught  with  the 
same  mysterious  assurance  from  the  creaking  of 
the  boughs  in  January  to  the  soft  sigh  of  the 
wind  in  July. 

How  much  of  my  well-being,  think  you,  de 
pends  on  the  condition  of  my  lungs  and  stomach, 
such  cheap  pieces  of  Nature  as  they,  which  in 
deed  she  is  every  day  reproducing  with  prodigal 
ity  ?  Is  that  arrow  indeed  fatal  which  rankles 
in  the  breast  of  the  bird  on  the  bough,  in  whose 
eye  all  this  fair  landscape  is  reflected,  and  whose 
voice  still  echoes  through  the  wood  ? 

This  is  my  argument  in  reserve  for  all  cases. 


272  AUTUMN. 

My  love  is  invulnerable.  Meet  me  on  that 
ground,  and  you  will  find  me  strong.  When  I 
am  condemned,  and  condemn  myself,  I  think 
straightway,  But  I  love  some  things.  Therein  I 
am  whole  and  entire.  Therein  I  am  God-propped. 

When  I  see  the  smoke  curling  up  through  the 
woods  from  some  farmhouse  invisible,  it  is  more 
suggestive  of  the  poetry  of  rural  and  domestic 
life  than  a  nearer  inspection  can  be.  Up  goes 
the  smoke  as  quietly  as  the  dew  exhales  in  vapor, 
as  busy  as  the  housewife  below,  disposing  itself 
in  circles  and  wreaths.  It  is  contemporary  with 
a  piece  of  human  biography,  and  waves  as  a 
feather  in  some  man's  cap.  Under  that  rod  of 
sky  there  is  some  plot  a-brewing,  some  ingenuity 
has  planted  itself,  and  we  shall  see  what  it  will 
do.  It  tattles  of  more  things  than  the  boiling  of 
a  pot.  It  is  but  one  of  man's  breaths.  All  that 
is  interesting  in  history  or  fiction  is  transpiring 
beneath  that  cloud.  The  subject  of  all  life  and 
death,  of  happiness  and  grief,  goes  thereunder. 
When  the  traveler  in  the  forest,  attaining  to 
some  eminence,  discovers  a  column  of  smoke  in 
the  distance,  it  is  a  very  gentle  hint  to  him  of 
the  presence  of  man.  It  seems  as  if  it  would 
establish  friendly  relations  between  them  with 
out  more  ado. 

Nov.  15,  1851.  Here  is  a  rainy  day  which 
keeps  me  in  the  house.  I  am  pleased  to  read  in 


AUTUMN.  273 

Stoerer's  [?]  "  Life  of  Linnaeus  "  (Trapp's  trans 
lation)  that  his  father,  being  the  first  learned 
man  of  his  family,  changed  his  family  name,  and 
borrowed  that  of  Linnaeus  (Linden-tree  man) 
from  a  lofty  linden  tree  which  stood  near  his  na 
tive  place ;  "  a  custom,"  he  says,  "  not  unfrequent 
in  Sweden,  to  take  fresh  appellations  from  natural 
objects."  What  more  fit  than  that  the  advent  of 
a  new  man  into  a  family  should  acquire  for  it 
and  transmit  to  posterity  a  new  patronymic! 
Such  a  custom  suggests,  if  it  does  not  argue,  an 
unabated  vigor  in  the  race,  relating  it  to  those 
primitive  times  when  men  did  indeed  acquire  a 
name  as  memorable  and  distinct  as  their  char 
acters.  It  is  refreshing  to  find  a  man  whom  you 
cannot  feel  satisfied  to  call  John's  son  or  John 
son's  son,  but  by  a  new  name  applicable  to  him 
self  alone,  he  being  the  first  of  his  kind.  We 
may  say  there  have  been  but  so  many  men  as 
there  are  surnames,  and  of  all  the  John  Smiths 
there  has  been  but  one  true  John  Smith,  and  he 
of  course  is  dead.  Get  yourself,  therefore,  a 
name,  and  better  a  nickname  than  none  at  all. 
There  was  one  enterprising  boy  came  to  school 
to  me  whose  name  was  "  Buster,"  and  an  honor 
able  name  it  was.  He  was  the  only  boy  in  the 
school,  to  my  knowledge,  who  was  named. 

What  shall  we  say  of  the  comparative  intel 
lectual  vigor  of  ancients  and  moderns,  when  we 


274  AUTUMN. 

read  of  Theophrastus,  the  father  of  botany,  that 
he  composed  more  than  two  hundred  treatises  in 
the  third  century  before  Christ  and  the  seven 
teenth  before  printing,  about  twenty  of  which 
remain,  and  that  these  fill  six  volumes  in  folio 
printed  at  Venice  ;  among  the  last  are  two  works 
on  natural  history,  and  one  on  the  generation  of 
plants. 

"By  his  own  avowal"  [Pliny  the  elder's] 
"Natural  History  is  a  compilation  from  about 
twenty-five  hundred  different  authors." 

Nov.  15,  1853.  After  having  some  business 
dealings  with  men,  I  am  occasionally  chagrined, 
and  feel  as  if  I  had  done  some  wrong,  and  it  is 
hard  to  forget  the  ugly  circumstance.  I  see  that 
such  intercourse  long  continued  would  make  one 
thoroughly  prosaic,  hard,  and  coarse.  But  the 
longest  intercourse  with  Nature,  though  in  her 
rudest  moods,  does  not  thus  harden  and  make 
coarse.  A  hard,  insensible  man  whom  we  liken 
to  a  rock,  is  indeed  much  harder  than  a  rock. 
From  hard,  coarse,  insensible  men  with  whom  I 
have  no  sympathy,  I  go  to  commune  with  the 
rocks,  whose  hearts  are  comparatively  soft. 

I  was  the  other  night  elected  a  curator  of  our 
Lyceum,  but  was  obliged  to  decline,  because  1 
did  not  know  where  to  find  good  lecturers  enough 
to  make  a  course  for  the  winter.  We  commonly 
think  we  cannot  have  a  good  journal  in  New 


AUTUMN.  275 

England,  because  we  have  not  enough  writers  of 
ability.  But  we  do  not  suspect  likewise  that 
we  have  not  good  lecturers  enough  to  make  a 
Lyceum. 

This  afternoon  has  wanted  no  condition  to 
make  it  a  gossamer  day,  it  seems  to  me,  but  a 
calm  atmosphere.  Plainly  the  spiders  cannot  be 
abroad  on  the  water,  unless  it  is  smooth.  The 
one  I  witnessed  this  fall  was  at  time  of  flood. 
May  it  be  that  they  are  driven  out  of  their  re 
treats  like  muskrats  and  sriowfleas,  and  spin 
these  lines  for  their  support?  Yet  they  work 
on  the  causeway,  too. 

Nov.  15,  1857.  P.  M.  To  Holden  swamp  and 
C.  Miles  swamp.  My  walk  is  the  more  lonely 
when  I  perceive  that  there  are  no  ants  upon  the 
hillocks  in  field  or  wood.  These  are  deserted 
mounds.  They  have  commenced  their  winter 
sleep.  The  water  is  frozen  solid  in  the  leaves 
of  the  pitcher  plant.  This  is  the  thickest  ice 
I  have  seen.  This  water  was  most  exposed  in 
the  cool  swamp. 

Going  by  my  owl-nest  oak,  I  saw  that  it  had 
broken  off  at  the  hole,  and  the  top  fallen,  but 
seeing  in  the  cavity  some  leaves,  I  climbed  up  to 
see  what  kind  of  nest  it  was.  I  took  out  the 
leaves  slowly,  watching  to  see  what  spoils  had 
been  left  with  them.  Some  were  pretty  green, 
and  all  had  evidently  been  placed  there  this  fall. 


276  AUTUMN. 

When  I  had  taken  all  out  with  my  left  hand, 
holding  on  to  the  top  of  the  stump  with  my  right, 
I  looked  round  into  the  cleft,  and  there  I  saw 
sitting  nearly  erect  at  the  bottom  in  one  corner, 
a  little  mus  leucopus,  panting  with  fear,  and 
with  its  large  black  eyes  upon  me.  I  held  my 
face  thus  within  seven  or  eight  inches  of  it  as 
long  as  I  cared  to  hold  on  there,  and  it  showed 
no  sign  of  retreating.  "When  I  put  in  my  hand, 
it  merely  withdrew  downward  into  a  snug  little 
nest  of  hypnum  and  apparently  the  dirty-white, 
wool-like  pappus  of  some  plant,  as  big  as  a  bat 
ting  ball.  Wishing  to  see  its  tail,  I  stirred  it  up 
again,  when  it  suddenly  rushed  up  the  side  of  the 
cleft  out  over  my  shoulder  and  right  arm,  and 
leaped  off,  falling  down  through  a  thin  hemlock 
spray  some  sixteen  or  eighteen  feet  to  the  ground 
on  the  hillside,  where  I  lost  sight  of  it.  These 
nests,  I  suppose,  are  made  when  the  trees  are 
losing  their  leaves,  as  those  of  the  squirrels  are. 
Nov.  15,  1859.  A  very  pleasant  Indian  sum 
mer  day.  P.  M.  To  Ledum  swamp.  I  look  up 
the  river  from  the  railroad  bridge.  It  is  per 
fectly  smooth  between  the  uniformly  tawny 
meadows,  and  I  see  several  muskrat  cabins  off 
Hubbard  shore,  distinctly  outlined,  as  usual,  in 
the  November  light.  I  hear  in  several  places  a 
faint  cricket  note,  either  a  fine  s-ing,  or  a  dis- 
tincter  creak  ;  also  see  and  hear  a  grasshopper's 


AUTUMN.  277 

crackling  flight.  The  clouds  were  never  more 
fairly  reflected  in  the  water  than  now,  as  I  look 
up  the  cyanean  reach  from  Clamshell.  A  fine 
gossamer  is  streaming  from  every  fence,  tree,  and 
stubble,  though  a  careless  observer  woidd  not 
notice  it.  As  I  look  along  over  the  grass  toward 
the  sun  at  Hosmer's  field  beyond  Lupine  Hill,  I 
notice  the  shimmering  effect  of  the  gossamer, 
which  seems  to  cover  it  almost  like  a  web,  occa 
sioned  by  its  motion,  though  the  air  is  so  still. 
This  is  noticed  at  least  forty  rods  off.  I  turn 
down  Witherel  Glade,  only  that  I  may  bring  its 
tufts  of  andropogon  between  me  and  the  sun. 

It  is  a  fact  proving  how  universal  and  widely 
related  any  transcendent  greatness  is,  like  the 
apex  of  a  pyramid  to  all  beneath  it,  that  when  I 
now  look  over  my  extracts  of  the  noblest  poetry, 
the  best  is  oftenest  applicable  in  part  or  wholly 
to  this  man's  [Captain  John  Brown's]  position. 
Almost  any  noble  verse  may  be  read  either  as 
his  elegy  or  eulogy,  or  be  made  the  text  of  an 
oration  about  him;  indeed  such  are  now  first 
discovered  to  be  parts  of  a  divinely  established  lit 
urgy  applicable  to  these  rare  cases  for  which  the 
ritual  of  no  church  has  provided,  —  the  case  of 
heroes,  martyrs,  and  saints.  This  is  the  formula 
established  on  high,  their  burial  service,  to  which 
every  great  genius  has  contributed  its  line  or 
syllable.  Of  course  the  ritual  of  no  church 


278  AUTUMN. 

which  is  wedded  to  the  state  can  contain  a  ser 
vice  applicable  to  the  case  of  a  state  criminal 
unjustly  condemned,  a  martyr.  The  sense  of 
grand  poetry  read  by  the  light  of  this  event  is 
brought  out  distinctly,  like  an  invisible  writing 
held  to  the  fire. 

Nov.  16,  1850.  I  am  accustomed  to  regard 
the  smallest  brook  with  as  much  interest,  for 
the  time  being,  as  if  it  were  the  Orinoco  or  Mis 
sissippi,  and  when  a  tributary  rill  empties  into 
it,  it  is  like  the  confluence  of  famous  rivers  I 
have  read  of.  When  I  cross  one  on  a  fence,  I 
love  to  pause  in  mid-passage  and  look  down  into 
the  water,  and  study  its  bottom,  its  little  mys 
tery.  There  is  none  so  small  but  you  may  see 
a  pickerel  regarding  you  with  a  wary  eye,  or  a 
pigmy  trout  dart  from  under  the  bank,  or  in 
spring  perchance  a  sucker  will  have  found  its 
way  far  up  the  stream.  You  are  sometimes  as 
tonished  to  see  a  pickerel  far  up  some  now 
shrunken  rill  where  it  is  a  mere  puddle  by  the 
roadside.  I  have  stooped  to  drink  at  a  clear 
spring  no  bigger  than  a  bushel  basket,  in  a 
meadow,  from  which  a  rill  was  scarcely  seen  to 
dribble  away,  and  seen  lurking  at  its  bottom 
two  little  pickerel  not  so  big  as  my  finger,  sole 
monarchs  of  this  their  ocean,  and  who  probably 
would  never  visit  a  larger  water. 

I  hear  deep  amid  the  birches  some  row  among 


AUTUMN.  279 

the  birds  or  the  squirrels,  where  evidently  some 
mystery  is  being  developed  to  them.  The  jay  is 
on  the  alert,  mimicking  every  woodland  note. 
"What  has  happened?  who's  dead?"  The 
twitter  retreats  before  you,  and  you  are  never 
let  into  the  secret.  Some  tragedy  surely  is 
being  enacted,  but  murder  will  out.  How  many 
little  dramas  are  enacted  in  the  depths  of  the 
woods  at  which  man  is  not  present ! 

There  seems  to  be  in  the  fall  a  sort  of  attempt 
at  spring,  a  rejuvenescence,  as  if  the  winter  were 
not  expected  by  a  part  of  nature.  Violets,  dan 
delions,  and  some  other  flowers  blossom  again, 
and  mulleins  and  innumerable  other  plants  be 
gin  again  to  spring,  and  are  only  checked  by  the 
increasing  cold.  There  is  a  slight  uncertainty 
whether  there  will  be  any  winter  this  year. 

Some  of  our  richest  days  are  those  in  which 
no  sun  shines  outwardly,  but  so  much  the  more 
a  sun  shines  inwardly.  I  love  nature,  I  love 
the  landscape,  because  it  is  so  sincere.  It  never 
cheats  me,  it  never  jests,  it  is  cheerfully,  musi 
cally  earnest.  I  lie  and  rely  on  the  earth. 

The  sweet-scented  life-everlasting  has  not  lost 
its  scent  yet,  but  smells  like  the  balm  of  the 
fields. 

The  partridge-berry  leaves  checker  the  ground 
on  moist  hillsides  in  the  woods.  Are  not  they 
properly  called  checker-berries  ? 


280  AUTUMN. 

My  journal  should  be  the  record  of  my  love. 
\  would  write  in  it  only  of  the  things  I  love, 
my  affection  for  an  aspect  of  the  world,  what  I 
love  to  think  of.  I  have  no  more  distinctness 
or  pointedness  in  my  yearnings  than  an  expand 
ing  bud  which  does  indeed  point  to  flower  and 
fruit,  to  summer  and  autumn,  but  is  aware  of 
the  warm  sun  and  spring  influence  only.  I  feel 
ripe  for  something,  yet  do  nothing,  can't  dis 
cover  what  that  thing  is.  I  feel  fertile  merely. 
It  is  seedtime  with  me.  I  have  lain  fallow  long 
enough. 

Notwithstanding  a  sense  of  unworthiness 
which  possesses  me  not  without  reason,  notwith 
standing  that  I  regard  myself  as  a  good  deal  of 
a  scamp,  yet  for  the  most  part  the  spirit  of  the 
universe  is  unaccountably  kind  to  me,  and  I 
enjoy  perhaps  an  unusual  share  of  happiness. 
But  I  question  sometimes  if  there  is  not  some 
settlement  to  come. 

Nov.  16,  1851.  It  is  remarkable  that  the 
highest  intellectual  mood  which  the  world  toler 
ates  is  the  perception  of  the  truth  of  the  most 
ancient  revelations,  now  in  some  respects  out  of 
date,  but  any  direct  revelation,  any  original 
thought,  it  hates  like  virtue.  So  far  as  think 
ing  is  concerned,  surely  original  thinking  is  the 
divinest  thing.  We  should  reverently  watch 
for  the  least  motions,  the  least  scintillations  of 


AUTUMN.  281 

thought  in  this  sluggish  world,  and  men  should 
run  to  and  fro  on  the  occasion  more  than  at  an 
earthquake.  We  check  and  repress  the  divinity 
that  stirs  within  us  to  fall  down  and  worship 
the  divinity  that  is  dead  without  us.  I  go  to 
see  many  a  good  man  or  good  woman,  so  called, 
and  utter  freely  that  thought  which  alone  it 
was  given  me  to  utter,  but  there  was  a  man  who 
lived  a  long,  long  time  ago  and  his  name  was 
Moses,  and  another  whose  name  was  Christ,  and 
if  your  thought  does  not,  or  does  not  appear  to, 
coincide  with  what  they  said,  the  good  man  or 
good  woman  has  no  ears  to  hear  you.  They 
think  they  love  God !  It  is  only  his  old  clothes, 
which  they  make  scarecrows  for  the  children. 
When  will  they  come  nearer  to  God  than  in 
these  very  children?  A  man  lately  preached 
here  against  the  abuse  of  the  sabbath,  and  recom 
mended  to  walk  in  the  fields  and  dance  on  that 
day.  Good  advice  enough,  which  may  take  ef 
fect  after  a  while.  But  with  the  mass  of  men, 
the  reason  is  convinced  long  before  the  life  is. 
They  may  see  the  church  and  the  sabbath  to  be 
false,  but  nothing  else  to  be  true.  One  woman 
in  the  neighborhood  says,  u  Nobody  can  hear 
Mr. preach,  hear  him  through,  without  see 
ing  that  he  is  a  good  man."  "  Well,  is  there 
any  truth  in  what  he  says?"  asks  another.  "  Oh 
yes,  it 's  true  enough,  but  then  it  won't  do,  you 


282  AUTUMN. 

know,  it  won't  do.  Now,  there 's  our  George, 
lie  's  got  the  whole  of  it ;  and  when  I  say, 
4  Come,  George,  put  on  your  things,  and  go 
along  to  meeting,'  he  says,  '  No,  mother,  I  'm 
going  out  into  the  fields.'  It  won't  do."  The 
fact  is,  this  woman  has  not  character  and  reli 
gion  enough  to  exeyt  a  controlling  influence  over 
her  children  by  her  example,  and  knows  of  no 
such  police  as  the  church  and  the  minister. 

If  it  were  not  for  death  and  funerals,  I  think 
the  institution  of  the  church  would  not  stand 
longer.  The  necessity  that  men  be  decently 
buried,  our  fathers  and  mothers,  brothers  and 
sisters  and  children  (notwithstanding  the  dan 
ger  that  they  be  buried  alive),  will  long,  if  not 
forever,  prevent  our  laying  violent  hands  on  it. 
If  salaries  were  stopped  off,  and  men  walked 
out  of  this  world  bodily  at  last,  the  minister  and 
his  vocation  would  be  gone. 

That  sounds  like  a  fine  mode  of  expressing 
gratitude  referred  to  by  Linna3us.  Hermann 
was  a  botanist  who  gave  up  his  place  to  Tourne- 
fort,  who  was  unprovided  for.  "Hermann," 
says  Linnaeus,  "  came  afterwards  to  Paris,  and 
Tournefort  in  honor  of  him  ordered  the  foun 
tains  to  play  in  the  royal  garden." 

Nov.  16,  1852.  9  A.  M.  Sail  up  river  to 
Lee's  bridge.  Colder  weather  and  very  windy, 
but  still  no  snow.  Very  little  ice  along  the 


AUTUMN.  283 

edge  of  the  river  which  does  not  melt  before 
night.  Muskrat  houses  completed;  interesting 
objects,  looking  down  a  river-reach  at  this  sea 
son,  and  our  river  should  not  be  represented 
without  one  or  two  of  these  cones.  They  are 
quite  conspicuous  half  a  mile  distant,  and  are  of 
too  much  importance  to  be  omitted  in  the  river 
landscape.  I  see  one  duck.  The  pines  on  shore 
look  very  cold,  reflecting  a  silvery  light.  The 
waves  run  high  with  white  caps,  and  communi 
cate  a  pleasant  motion  to  the  boat.  At  Lee's 
Cliff  the  cerastium  viscosum.  We  sailed  up 
Well-meadow  brook.  The  water  is  singularly 
grayish,  clear  and  cold,  the  bottom  of  the  brook 
showing  great  nuphar  roots,  like  its  ribs,  with 
some  budding  leaves. 

The  water  is  frozen  in  the  pitcher-plant  leaf. 
The  swamp  pink  and  blueberry  buds  attract. 

Nov.  16,  1854.  P.  M.  Sailed  to  Hubbard's 
bridge.  Almost  every  muskrat's  house  is  cov 
ered  by  the  flood,  though  they  were  unusually 
high  as  well  as  numerous,  and  the  river  is  not 
nearly  so  high  as  last  year.  I  see  where  they 
have  begun  to  raise  them  another  story.  A  few 
cranberries  begin  to  wash  up,  and  rails,  boards, 
etc.,  may  now -be  collected  by  wreckers. 

Nov.  16,  1858.  Preaching?  lecturing?  Who 
are  ye  that  ask  for  these  things  ?  What  do  you 
want  to  hear,  ye  puling  infants?  A  trumpet 


284  AUTUMN. 

sound  that  would  train  you  up  to  manhood  ?  or 
a  nurse's  lullaby  ?  The  preachers  and  lecturers 
deal  with  men  of  straw,  as  they  are  men  of  straw 
themselves.  Why,  a  free-spoken  man,  of  sound 
lungs,  cannot  draw  a  long  breath,  without  caus 
ing  your  rotten  institutions  to  come  toppling 
down,  by  the  vacuum  he  makes.  Your  church 
is  a  baby-house  made  of  blocks,  and  so  of  the 
state.  It  would  be  a  relief  to  breathe  one's  self 
occasionally,  among  men.  Freedom  of  speech! 
It  hath  not  entered  into  your  hearts  to  conceive 
what  those  words  mean.  The  church,  the  state, 
the  school,  the  magazine,  think  they  are  liberal 
and  free !  It  is  the  freedom  of  a  prison  yard. 
What  is  it  you  tolerate,  you  church  to-day? 
Not  truth,  but  a  life-long  hypocrisy.  The  voice 
that  goes  up  from  the  monthly  concerts  is  not  so 
brave  and  cheery  as  that  which  rises  from  the 
frog-ponds  of  the  land.  Look  at  your  editors  of 
popular  magazines.  I  have  dealt  with  two  or 
three  of  the  most  liberal  of  them.  They  are 
afraid  to  print  a  whole  sentence,  a  sound  sen 
tence,  a  free-spoken  sentence.  We  want  to  get 
30,000  subscribers,  and  will  do  anything  to  get 
them.  They  consult  the  D.  D.'s  and  all  the 
letters  of  the  alphabet,  before  printing  a  sen 
tence. 

Nov.  17,  1837.     If  there  is  nothing  new  on 
earth,  still  there  is  something  new  in  the  heav- 


AUTUMN.  285 

ens.  We  have  always  a  resource  in  the  skies. 
They  are  constantly  turning  a  new  page  to  view. 
The  wind  sets  the  types  in  their  blue  ground, 
and  the  inquiring  may  always  read  a  new  truth 
there. 

Nov.  17,  1850.  I  found  this  afternoon  in  a 
field  of  winter  rye,  a  snapping-turtle's  egg,  white 
and  elliptical  like  a  pebble,  mistaking  it  for 
which  I  broke  it.  The  little  turtle  was  per 
fectly  formed,  even  to  the  dorsal  ridge,  which 
was  distinctly  visible. 

Nov.  17,  1851.  All  things  tend  to  flow  to 
him  who  can  make  the  best  use  of  them,  even 
away  from  their  legal  owner.  A  thief,  finding 
with  the  property  of  the  Italian  naturalist, 
Donati,  whom  he  had  robbed  abroad,  a  collec 
tion  of  rare  African  seeds,  forwarded  them 
to  Linnaeus  from  Marseilles.  Donati  suffered 
shipwreck,  and  never  returned. 

Nov.  17,  1853.  I  notice  that  many  plants 
about  this  season  of  the  year  or  earlier,  after 
they  have  died  down  at  top,  put  forth  fresh 
and  conspicuous  radical  leaves  against  another 
spring  ;  so  some  human  beings  in  the  November 
of  their  days,  exhibit  some  fresh  radical  green 
ness,  which,  though  the  frosts  may  soon  nip  it, 
indicates  and  confirms  their  essential  greenness. 
When  their  summer  leaves  have  faded  and 
fallen,  they  put  forth  fresh  radical  leaves  which 


286  AUTUMN. 

sustain  the  life  in  their  root  still,  against  a  new 
spring.  The  dry  fields  have,  for  a  long  time, 
been  spotted  with  the  small  radical  leaves  of 
the  fragrant  life-everlasting,  not  to  mention  the 
large  primrose,  John's-wort,  etc.  Almost  every 
plant,  although  it  may  show  110  greenness  above 
ground,  if  you  dig  about  it,  will  be  found  to 
have  fresh  shoots  already  pointing  upward,  and 
ready  to  burst  forth  in  the  spring. 

Nov.  17,  1854.  Paddled  up  river  to  Clam 
shell,  and  sailed  back.  I  think  it  must  have 
been  a  fishhawk  which  I  saw  hovering  over  the 
meadow  and  my  boat  (a  raw,  cloudy  afternoon), 
now  and  then  sustaining  itself  in  one  place,  a 
hundred  feet  or  more  above  the  water,  intent  on 
a  fish,  with  a  hovering  or  fluttering  motion  of 
the  wings,  somewhat  like  a  kingfisher.  Its 
wings  were  very  long,  slender,  and  curved  in 

outline  of  front  edge, thus,  perhaps.  I 

think  there  was  some  white  on  rump.  It 
alighted  near  the  top  of  an  oak  within  rifle-shot 
of  me,  afterward  on  the  tip  top  of  a  maple  by 
waterside,  looking  very  large. 

Nov.  17,  '1855.  It  is  interesting  to  me  to 
talk  with  Rice,  he  lives  so  thoroughly  and  satis 
factorily  to  himself.  He  has  learned  that  rare 
art  of  living,  the  very  elements  of  which  most 
persons  do  not  know.  His  life  has  been  not  a 
failure,  but  a  success.  Seeing  me  going  to 


AUTUMN.  287 

sharpen  some  plane  irons,  and  hearing  me  com 
plain  of  the  want  of  tools,  he  said  I  ought  to 
have  a  chest  of  tools.  But  I  said  it  was  not 
worth  the  while.  I  should  not  use  them  enough 
to  pay  for  them.  "  You  would  use,  them  more, 
if  you  had  them,"  said  he.  "  When  I  came  to 
do  a  piece  of  work,  I  used  to  find  commonly 
that  I  wanted  a  certain  tool,  and  I  made  it  a 
rule  first  always  to  make  that  tool.  I  have 
spent  as  much  as  §3,000  thus  in  my  tools." 
Comparatively  speaking,  his  life  is  a  success ; 
not  such  a  failure  as  most  men's.  He  gets  more 
out  of  any  enterprise  than  his  neighbors,  for  he 
helps  himself  more,  and  hires  less.  Whatever 
pleasure  there  is  in  it  he  enjoys.  By  good  sense 
and  calculation  he  has  become  rich,  and  has  in 
vested  his  property  well,  yet  practices  a  fair  and 
neat  economy,  dwells  not  in  untidy  luxury.  It 
costs  him  less  to  live,  and  he  gets  more  out  of 
life  than  others.  To  get  his  living  or  keep  it 
is  not  a  hasty  or  disagreeable  toil.  He  works 
slowly,  but  surely,  enjoying  the  sweet  of  it.  He 
buys  a  piece  of  meadow  at  a  profitable  rate, 
works  it  in  pleasant  weather,  he  and  his  son, 
when  they  are  inclined,  goes  a-fishing  or  bee- 
hunting,  or  rifle  -  shooting  quite  as  often,  and 
thus  the  meadow  gets  redeemed,  and  potatoes 
get  planted  perchance,  and  he  is  very  sure  to 
have  a  good  crop  stored  in  his  cellar  in  the  fall, 


288  AUTUMN. 

and  some  to  sell.  He  always  has  the  best  of 
potatoes  there.  In  the  same  spirit  in  which  he 
and  his  son  tackle  up  their  Dobbin  (he  never 
keeps  a  fast  horse)  and  go  a-spearing  or  fishing 
through  the  ^ce,  they  also  tackle  up  and  go  to 
their  Sudbury  farm  to  hoe  or  harvest  a  little, 
and  when  they  return  they  bring  home  in  their 
hay-rigging  a  load  of  stumps  which  had  impeded 
their  labors,  but  may  supply  them  with  their 
winter  wood.  All  the  woodchucks  they  shoot 
or  trap  in  the  bean-field  are  brought  home  also. 
Thus  their  life  is  a  long  sport,  and  they  know 
not  what  hard  times  are. 

Labaume  says  that  he  wrote  his  journal  of 
the  campaign  in  Russia  each  night  in  the  midst 
of  incredible  danger  and  suffering,  with  "  a 
raven's  quill  and  a  little  gunpowder  mixed  with 
some  melted  snow,  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand," 
the  quill  cut  and  mended  with  "  the  knife  with 
which  I  had  carved  my  scanty  morsel  of  horse 
flesh."  Such  a  statement  promises  well  for  the 
writer's  qualifications  to  treat  such  a  theme. 

Nov.  17,  1858.  P.  M.  Up  Assabet.  The 
muskrats  are  more  active  since  the  cold  weather. 
I  see  more  of  them  about  the  river  now,  swim 
ming  across  back  and  forth,  and  diving  in  the 
middle  where  I  lose  them.  They  dive  off  the 
round-backed  black  mossy  stones,  which  when 
small  and  slightly  exposed  look  much  like 


AUTUMN.  289 

themselves.  In  swimming,  show  commonly 
three  parts,  with  water  between.  One,  sitting 
in  the  sun,  as  if  for  warmth,  on  the  opposite 
shore  to  me,  looks  quite  reddish-brown.  They 
avail  themselves  of  the  edge  of  the  ice  now 
found  along  the  sides  of  the  river,  to  feed  on. 

The  very  sunlight  on  the  pale-brown  bleached 
fields  is  an  interesting  object  these  cold  days. 
I  naturally  look  toward  it  as  to  a  wood  fire. 
Not  only  different  objects  are  presented  to  our 
attention  at  different  seasons  of  the  year,  but 
we  are  in  a  frame  of  body  and  of  mind  to  appre 
ciate  different  objects  at  different  seasons.  I  see 
one  thing  when  it  is  cold  and  another  when  it 
is  warm. 

We  are  interested  at  this  season  by  the  mani 
fold  ways  in  which  the  light  is  reflected  to  us. 
Ascending  a  little  knoll  covered  with  sweet  fern, 
the  sun  appearing  but  little  above  the  sweet 
fern,  its  light  was  reflected  from  a  dense  mass 
of  the  bare,  downy  twigs  of  this  plant  in  a  sur 
prising  manner  which  would  not  be  believed,  if 
described.  It  was  quite  like  the  sunlight  re 
flected  from  grass  and  weeds  covered  with  hoar 
frost.  Yet  in  an  ordinary  light,  these  are  but 
dark  or  dusky-looking  with  scarcely  a  noticeable 
downiness.  But  as  I  saw  them,  there  was  a  per 
fect  halo  of  light  resting  on  the  knoll.  I  moved 
to  right  or  left.  A  myriad  of  surfaces  are  now 


290  AUTUMN. 

prepared  to  reflect  the  light.  This  is  one  of 
the  hundred  silvery  lights  of  November.  The 
setting  sun,  too,  is  reflected  from  windows  more 
brightly  than  at  any  other  season.  "  November 
lights  "  would  be  a  theme  for  me. 

Nature  is  moderate,  and  loves  degrees.  Win 
ter  is  not  all  white  and  sere.  Some  trees  are 
evergreen  to  cheer  us,  and  on  the  forest  floor 
our  eyes  do  not  fall  on  sere  brown  leaves  alone, 
but  some  evergreen  shrubs  are  placed  there  to 
relieve  the  eye.  Mountain  laurel,  lambkill, 
checkerberry,  wintergreen,  etc.,  keep  up  the 
semblance  of  summer  still. 

Nov.  17, 1859.  Another  Indian-summer  day, 
as  fair  as  any  we  have  had.  I  go  down  the 
railroad  to  Andromeda  Ponds  this  afternoon. 

I  have  been  so  absorbed  of  late  in  Captain 
Brown's  fate  as  to  be  surprised  wherever  I  de 
tected  the  old  routine  surviving  still,  met  per 
sons  going  about  their  affairs  indifferent.  It 
appeared  strange  to  me  that  the  little  dipper 
should  be  still  diving  in  the  river  as  of  yore, 
and  it  suggested  to  me  that  this  grebe  might  be 
diving  here  when  Concord  shall  be  no  more. 
Any  affecting  human  event  may  blind  our  eyes 
to  natural  objects. 

How  fair  and  memorable  this  prospect,  when 
you  stand  opposite  the  sun,  these  "November 
afternoons,  and  look  over  the  red  andromeda 


AUTUMN.  291 

swamp,  a  glowing,  warm  brown-red  in  the  In 
dian  summer  sun,  like  a  bed  of  moss  in  a  hollow 
in  the  woods,  with  gray  high  -  blueberry,  and 
straw  -  colored  grasses  interspersed  ;  and  when, 
going  round  it,  you  look  over  it  in  the  opposite 
direction,  it  presents  a  gray  aspect. 

JVov.  18,  1837.  Nature  makes  no  noise. 
The  howling  storm,  the  rustling  leaf,  the  patter 
ing  rain,  are  no  disturbance.  There  is  an  essen 
tial  and  unexplored  harmony  in  them.  Why  is 
it  that  thought  flows  with  so  deep  and  sparkling 
a  current  when  the  sound  of  distant  music 
strikes  the  ear  ?  When  I  would  muse  I  com 
plain  not  of  a  rattling  tune  on  the  piano,  a 
Battle  of  Prague  even,  if  it  be  harmony,  but  an 
irregular,  discordant  drumming  is  intolerable. 

When  a  shadow  flits  across  the  landscape  of 
the  soul,  where  is  the  substance  ?  Has  it  always 
its  origin  in  sin  ?  and  is  that  sin  in  me  ? 

Nov.  18,  1841.  Some  men  make  their  due 
impression  upon  their  generation  because  a 
petty  occasion  is  enough  to  call  forth  all  their 
energies;  but  are  there  not  others  who  would 
rise  to  much  higher  levels,  whom  the  world  has 
never  provoked  to  make  the  effort  ?  I  believe 
there  are  men  now  living  who  have  never  opened 
their  mouths  in  a  public  assembly,  in  whom 
nevertheless  there  is  such  a  well  of  eloquence 
that  the  appetite  of  any  age  could  never  exhaust 


292  AUTUMN. 

it,  who  pine  for  an  occasion  worthy  of  them, 
and  will  pine  till  they  are  dead,  who  can  admire 
as  well  as  the  rest  the  flowing  speech  of  the 
orator,  but  do  yet  miss  the  thunder  and  light 
ning,  and  visible  sympathy  of  the  elements 
which  would  garnish  their  own  utterance.  The 
age  may  well  pine  that  it  cannot  put  to  use  the 
gift  of  the  gods.  He  lives  on  still  unconcerned, 
not  needing  to  be  used.  The  greatest  occasion 
will  be  the  slowest  to  come. 

If,  in  any  strait,  I  see  a  man  fluttered  and  his 
ballast  gone,  then  I  lose  all  hope  of  him,  he  is 
undone ;  but  if  he  reposes  still,  though  he  do  no 
thing  else  worthy  of  him,  if  he  is  still  a  man  in 
reserve,  there  is  then  everything  to  hope  of  him. 

Sometimes  a  body  of  men  do  unconsciously 
assert  that  their  will  is  fate,  that  the  right  is 
decided  by  their  fiat,  without  appeal,  and  when 
this  is  the  case,  they  can  never  be  mistaken  ;  as 
when  one  man  is  quite  silenced  by  the  thrilling 
eloquence  of  another,  and  submits  to  be  neg-- 
lected,  as  to  his  fate,  because  such  is  not  the 
willful  vote  of  the  assembly,  but  their  instinctive 
decision. 

Nov.  18,  1851.  Surveying  these  days  the 
Ministerial  lot.  Now  at  sundown  I  hear  the 
hooting  of  an  owl,  hoo  h6o  hoo-hoorer-hoo.  It 
sounds  like  the  hooting  of  an  idiot  or  a  maniac 
broke  loose. .  This  is  faintly  answered  in  a  dif- 


AUTUMN.  293 

f erent  strain,  apparently  from  a  greater  distance, 
almost  as  if  it  were  the  echo,  that  is,  so  far  as  the 
succession  is  concerned.  I  heard  it  last  evening. 
The  men  who  help  me,  call  it  the  hooting  owl, 
and  think  it  is  the  cat-owl.  It  is  a  sound  ad 
mirably  suited  to  the  swamp  and  to  the  twilight 
woods,  suggesting  a  vast  undeveloped  nature 
which  men  have  not  recognized. 

The  chopper  who  works  in  the  woods  all  day 
for  many  weeks  or  months  at  a  time,  becomes 
intimately  acquainted  with  them  in  his  way.  He 
is  more  open,  in  many  respects,  to  the  impres 
sions  they  are  fitted  to  make  than  the  naturalist 
who  goes  to  see  them.  He  is  not  liable  to  exag 
gerate  insignificant  featured.  He  really  forgets 
himself,  forgets  to  observe,  and  at  night  he 
dreams  of  the  swamp,  its  phenomena  and  events. 
Not  so  the  naturalist ;  enough  of  his  unconscious 
life  does  not  pass  there.  A  man  can  hardly 
be  said  to  be  there,  if  he  knows  that  he  is  there, 
or  to  go  there  if  he  knows  where  he  is  going. 
The  man  who  is  bent  upon  his  work  is  fre 
quently  in  the  best  attitude  to  observe  what  is 
irrelevant  to  his  work.  (Mem.  Wordsworth's 
observations  on  relaxed  attention.)  You  must 
be  conversant  with  things  for  a  long  time  to 
know  much  about  them,  like  the  moss  which  has 
hung  from  the  spruce,  and  as  the  partridge  and 
the  rabbit  are  acquainted  with  the  thickets,  and 


294  AUTUMN. 

at  length  have  acquired  the  color  of  the  places 
they  frequent.  If  the  man  of  science  can  put  all 
his  knowledge  into  propositions,  the  woodman 
has  a  great  deal  of  incommunicable  knowledge. 

Nov.  18,  1852.     Yarrow  and  tansy  still. 

Nov.  18, 1853.  Conchologists  call  those  shells 
"which  are  fished  up  from  the  depths  of  the 
ocean  "  and  are  never  seen  on  the  shore,  pelagii, 
but  those  which  are  cast  on  shore  and  are 
never  so  delicate  and  beautiful  as  the  former,  on 
account  of  exposure  and  abrasion,  littorales.  So 
is  it  with  the  thoughts  of  poets.  Some  are  fresh 
from  the  deep  sea,  radiant  with  unimagined 
beauty,  — pelagii  ;  but  others  are  comparatively 
worn,  having  been  tossed  by  many  a  tide,  scaled 
off,  abraded,  and  eaten  by  worms,  —  littorales. 

Nov.  18,  1854.  Saw  sixty  geese  go  over  the 
Great  Fields  in  one  waving  line  broken  from 
time  to  time  by  their  crowding  on  each  other 
and  vainly  endeavoring  to  form  into  a  harrow, 
honking  all  the  while. 

Nov.  18,  1855.  Men  foolishly  prefer  gold  to 
that  of  which  it  is  the  symbol,  simple,  honest, 
independent  labor.  Can  gold  be  said  to  buy 
food,  if  it  does  not  buy  an  appetite  for  food  ? 
It  is  fouler  and  uglier  to  have  too  much  than 
not  to  have  enough. 

Nov.  18  [?],  1857.  Much  cold  slate-colored 
cloud,  bare  twigs  seen  gleaming  toward  the 


AUTUMN.  295 

light  like  gossamer,  pure  green  of  pines  where 
old  leaves  have  fallen,  reddish  or  yellowish- 
brown  oak  leaves  rustling  on  the  hillsides,  very 
pale  brown,  bleaching  almost  hoary  fine  grass 
or  hay  in  the  fields,  akin  to  the  frost  which  has 
killed  it,  and  flakes  of  clear  yellow  sunlight 
falling  on  it  here  and  there,  —  such  is  November. 
The  fine  grass  killed  by  the  frost,  and  bleached 
till  it  is  almost  silvery,  has  clothed  the  fields  for 
a  long  time. 

Now,  as  in  the  spring,  we  rejoice  in  sheltered 
and  sunny  places.  Some  corn  is  left  out  still. 

Flannery  is  the  hardest-working  man  I  know. 
Before  sunrise  and  long  after  sunset  he  is  tax 
ing  his  unweariable  muscles.  The  result  is  a 
singular  cheerfulness.  He  is  always  in  good 
spirits.  He  often  overflows  with  his  joy,  when 
you  perceive  no  occasion  for  it.  If  only  the 
gate  sticks,  some  of  it  bubbles  up  and  overflows 
in  his  passing  comment  on  that  accident.  How 
much  mere  industry  proves  !  There  is  a  sparkle 
often  in  his  passing  remark,  and  his  voice  is 
really  like  that  of  a  bird. 

In  one  light,  these  are  old  and  worn-out 
fields  that  I  ramble  over,  and  men  have  gone  to 
law  about  them  long  before  I  was  born,  but  I 
trust  that  I  ramble  over  them  in  a  new  fashion, 
and  redeem  them. 

There  are  many  ways  of  feeling  one's  pulse. 


296  AUTUMN. 

In  a  healthy  state,  the  constant  experience  is  a 
pleasurable  sensation  or  sentiment.  For  in 
stance,  in  such  a  state  I  find  myself  in  perfect 
connection  with  nature,  and  the  perception  and 
remembrance  even,  of  any  natural  phenomena 
is  attended  with  a  gentle,  pleasurable  excite 
ment.  Prevailing  sights  and  sounds  make  the 
impression  of  beauty  and  music  on  me.  But  in 
sickness  all  is  deranged.  I  had  yesterday  a  kink 
in  my  back  and  a  general  cold,  and  as  usual  it 
amounted  to  a  cessation  of  life.  I  lost  for  the 
time  my  support  or  relation  to  nature.  Sympa 
thy  with  nature  is  an  evidence  of  perfect  health. 
You  cannot  perceive  beauty  but  with  a  serene 
mind.  The  cheaper  your  amusements,  the  safer 
and  surer.  They  who  think  much  of  theatres, 
operas,  and  the  like,  are  beside  themselves. 
Each  man's  necessary  path,  though  as  obscure 
and  apparently  uneventful  as  that  of  a  beetle 
in  the  grass,  is  the  way  to  the  deepest  joys  he  is 
susceptible  of.  Though  he  converses  only  with 
moles  and  fungi,  and  disgraces  his  relatives,  it 
is  no  matter,  if  he  knows  what  is  steel  to  his 
flint.  Many  a  man  who  should  rather  describe 
his  dinner  imposes  on  us  with  a  history  of  the 
Grand  Khan. 

Nov.  18,  1858.  p.  M.  To  Conantum.  I 
look  south  from  the  Cliff,  the  westering  sun 
just  out  of  sight  behind  the  hill.  Its  rays  from 


AUTUMN.  297 

those  bare  twigs  across  the  pond  are  bread  and 
cheese  to  me.  So  many  oak  leaves  have  fallen 
that  the  white  birch  stems  are  more  distinct 
amid  the  young  oaks.  I  see  to  the  bone,  see 
those  bare  birches  prepared  to  stand  the  win 
ter  through  on  the  hillsides.  They  never  sing, 
What 's  this  dull  town  to  me  ?  The  maples 
skirting  the  meadows  in  dense  phalanxes,  look 
like  light  infantry  advanced  for  a  swamp  fight. 
Ah,  dear  November,  you  must  be  sacred  to  the 
?iine,  surely.  The  willow  catkins  already  peep 
out  one  fourth  of  an  inch.  Early  crowfoot  is 
reddened  at  Lee's. 
JVov.  19,  1839. 

Light-hearted,  thoughtless,  shall  I  take  my  way, 
When  I  to  thee  this  being  have  resigned, 
Well  knowing,  on  some  future  day, 
With  usurer's  craft,  more  than  myself  to  find. 

Nov.  19  [?],  1857.  I  see  where  a  mouse, 
which  had  a  hole  under  a  stump,  has  eaten  out 
clean  the  inside  of  the  little  seeds  of  the  Prinos 
verticillata  berries.  What  pretty  fruit  for  them, 
these  bright  berries  !  They  run  up  the  twigs  in 
the  night,  and  gather  this  shining  fruit,  take 
out  the  small  seeds,  and  eat  these  kernels  at  the 
entrance  to  their  burrows.  The  ground  is 
strewn  with  them  there. 

Nov.  20,  1850.  Desor,  who  has  been  among 
the  Indians  at  Lake  Superior  this  summer,  told 


298  AUTUMN. 


* 


me  the  other  day  that  they  had  a  particular 
name  for  each  species  of  tree,  as  of  the  maple, 
but  they  had  but  one  word  for  flowers.  They 
did  not  distinguish  the  species  of  the  last. 

It  is  often  the  unscientific  man  who  discovers 
the  new  species.  It  would  be  strange  if  it  were 
not  so.  But  we  are  accustomed  properly  to  call 
that  only  a  scientific  discovery  which  knows  the 
relative  value  of  the  thing  discovered,  and  un 
covers  a  fact  to  mankind. 

Nov.  20,  1851.  It  is  often  said  that  melody 
can  be  heard  farther  than  noise,  and  the  finest 
melody  farther  than  the  coarsest.  I  think  there 
is  truth  in  this,  and  that  accordingly  those 
strains  of  the  piano  which  reach  me  here  in  my 
attic  stir  me  so  much  more  than  the  sounds  which 
I  should  hear  if  I  were  below  in  the  parlor,  be 
cause  they  are  so  much  purer  and  diviner  mel 
ody.  They  who  sit  farthest  off  from  the  noisy 
and  bustling  world  are  not  at  pains  to  distin 
guish  what  is  sweet  and  musical,  for  that  alone 
can  reach  them,  that  chiefly  comes  down  to  pos 
terity. 

Hard  and  steady  and  engrossing  labor  with 
the  hands,  especially  out  of  doors,  is  invaluable 
to  the  literary  man,  and  serves  him  directly. 
Here  I  have  been  for  six  days  surveying  in  the 
woods,  and  yet  when  I  get  home  at  evening 
somewhat  weary  at  last,  and  beginning  to  feel 


AUTUMN.  299 

that  I  have  nerves,  I  find  myself  more  suscep 
tible  than  usual  to  the  finest  influences,  as  music 
and  poetry.  The  very  air  can  intoxicate  me,  or 
the  least  sight  or  sound,  as  if  my  finer  senses 
had  acquired  an  appetite  by  their  fast. 

Mr.  J.  Hosmer  tells  me  that  one  spring  he 
saw  a  red  squirrel  gnaw  the  bark  of  a  maple, 
and  then  suck  the  juice,  and  this  he  repeated 
many  times. 

Nov.  20,  1853.  I  once  came  near  speculating 
in  cranberries.  Being  put  to  it  to  raise  the 
wind,  and  having  occasion  to  go  to  New  York, 
to  peddle  some  pencils  which  I  had  made,  as  I 
passed  through  Boston  I  went  to  Quincy  market 
and  inquired  the  price  of  cranberries.  The 
dealer  took  me  down  cellar,  asked  if  I  wanted 
wet  or  dry,  and  showed  me  them.  I  gave  it  to 
be  understood  that  I  might  want  an  indefinite 
quantity.  It  made  a  slight  sensation  among  the 
dealers,  and  for  aught  I  know,  raised  the  price 
of  the  berry  for  a  time.  I  then  visited  various 
New  York  packets,  and  was  told  what  would  be 
the  freight  on  deck  and  in  the  hold,  and  one 
skipper  was  very  anxious  for  my  freight.  When 
I  got  to  New  York,  I  again  visited  the  markets 
as  a  purchaser,  and  "  the  best  of  eastern  cran 
berries  "  were  offered  me  by  the  barrel  at  a 
cheaper  rate  than  I  could  buy  them  in  Boston. 
I  was  obliged  to  manufacture  $  1,000  worth  of 


300  AUTUMN. 

pencils,  and  slowly  dispose  of,  and  finally  sacri 
fice  them,  in  order  to  pay  an  assumed  debt  of 
1100. 

What  enhances  my  interest  in  dew  (I  am 
thinking  of  summer)  is  the  fact  that  it  is  so 
distinct  from  rain,  formed  most  abundantly  after 
bright,  starlight  nights,  a  product  especially  of 
the  clear,  s*erene  air,  the  manna  of  fair  weather, 
the  upper  side  of  rain,  as  the  country  above 
the  clouds.  That  nightly  rain,  called  dew, 
gathers  and  falls  in  so  low  a  stratum  that  our 
heads  tower  above  it  like  mountains  in  an  ordi 
nary  shower.  It  only  consists  with  comparative 
fair  weather  above  our  heads.  Those  warm 
volumes  of  air  forced  high  up  the  hillsides  in 
summer  nights  are  driven  thither  to  drop  their 
dew,  like  kine  to  their  yards  to  be  milked,  that 
the  moisture  they  hold  may  be  condensed,  and 
so  dew  formed  before  morning  on  the  tops  of 
the  Jiills.  A  writer  in  "  Harper's  Magazine,"  vol. 
vii.,  p.  505,  says  that  the  mist  at  evening  does 
not  rise,  "  but  gradually  forms  higher  up  in  the 
air."  He  calls  it,  the  moisture  of  the  air  become 
visible,  says  there  is  most  dew  in  clear  nights 
because  clouds  prevent  the  cooling  down  of  the 
air,  they  radiate  the  heat  of  the  earth  back  to  it, 
and  that  a  strong  wind,  by  keeping  the  air  in 
motion,  prevents  its  heat  from  passing  off.  He 
says  also  that  bad  conductors  of  heat  have  al- 


AUTUMN.  301 

ways  most  dew  on  them,  and  that  wool  or  swan's 
down  are  "  good  for  experimenting  on  the  quan 
tity  of  dew  falling,"  weighed  before  and  after  ; 
thinks  it  not  safe  to  walk  in  clear  nights,  espe 
cially  after  midnight  when  the  dew  is  most  abun 
dantly  forming,  better  in  cloudy  nights,  which 
are  drier ;  also  thinks  it  not  prudent  to  venture 
out  until  the  sun  begins  to  rise,  and  warms  the 
air  ;  but  I  think  this  prudence  begets  a  tender 
ness  that  will  catch  more  cold  at  noonday  than 
the  opposite  hardiness  at  midnight. 

Nov.  21,  1853.  Is  not  the  dew  but  a  humble, 
gentler  rain,  the  nightly  rain,  above  which  we 
raise  our  heads,  and  unobstructedly  behold  the 
stars?  The  mountains  are  giants  which  tower 
above  the  rain,  as  we  above  the  dew  on  the 
grass.  It  only  wets  their  feet. 

Nov.  20,  1854.  7  A.  M.  To  Boston.  9  A.  M. 
Boston  to  New  York  by  express  train.  See  the 
reddish  soil  (red  sandstone  ?)  all  through  Con 
necticut.  Beyond  Hartford  a  range  of  rocky 
hills  crossing  the  State  on  each  side  the  rail 
road.  The  second  one  very  precipitous,  and  ap 
parently  terminating  at  East  Rock,  New  Haven. 
Pleasantest  part  of  the  whole  route  between 
Springfield  and  Hartford  along  the  river,  per 
haps  including  the  hilly  region  this  side  of 
Springfield.  Reached  Canal  Street  at  5  P.  M., 
or  candle-light.  Started  for  Philadelphia  from 


302  AUTUMN. 

foot  of  Liberty  Street  at  6  p.  M.,  by  Newark, 
Bordentown,  and  Camden  Ferry,  all  in  the  dark  ; 
saw  only  the  glossy  paneling  of  the  cars  reflected 
out  into  the  dark  like  the  magnificent  lit  facade 
of  a  row  of  edifices  reaching  all  the  way  to  Phil 
adelphia,  except  when  we  stopped,  and  a  lantern 
or  two  showed  us  a  ragged  boy  and  the  dark 
buildings  of  some  New  Jersey  town.  Arrived 
at  10  P.  M.  Time,  four  hours  from  New  York, 
thirteen  from  Boston,  fifteen  from  Concord. 
Put  up  at  Jones's  Exchange  Hotel,  77  Dock 
Street.  Lodgings,  thirty-seven  cents  and  a  half 
per  night ;  meals,  separate.  Not  to  be  named 
with  French's  in  New  York. 

Nov.  21,  1854.  Was  admitted  into  the  build 
ing  of  the  Academy  of  Natural  Sciences.  Its 
collection  of  birds  said  to  be  the  largest  in  the 
world.  They  belonged  to  the  son  of  Massena 
(Prince  of  Essling?),  and  were  sold  at  auction, 
bought  by  a  Yankee  for  $22,000,  over  all  the 
crowned  heads  of  Europe,  and  presented  to  the 
Academy.  Other  collections  also  are  added  to 
this.  The  Academy  has  received  great  donations. 

Furness  described  a  lotus  identical  with  an 
Egyptian  one,  as  found  somewhere  down  the 
river  below  Philadelphia. 

Lodged  at  the  United  States  Hotel,  opposite 
the  Girard  (formerly  United  States)  bank. 

Nov.  22,  1854.     Left  at  7.30  A.  M.,  for  New 


AUTUMN.  303 

York.  Saw  Greeley.  He  took  me  to  the  New 
Opera  House,  where  I  heard  Grisi  and  her 
troupe.  He  appeared  to  know  and  be  known 
by  everybody.  Was  admitted  free  to  the  opera, 
and  we  were  led  by  a  page  to  various  parts  of 
the  house  at  different  times. 

Nov.  20,  1857.  In  books,  that  which  is  most 
generally  interesting  is  what  comes  home  to  the 
most  cherished  private  experience  of  the  great 
est  number.  It  is  not  the  book  of  him  who  has 
traveled  farthest  on  the  surface  of  the  globe, 
but  of  him  who  has  lived  the  deepest,  and  been 
the  most  at  home.  If  an  equal  emotion  is  ex 
cited  by  a  familiar  homely  phenomenon  as  by 
the  pyramids,  there  is  no  advantage  in  seeing 
the  pyramids.  It  is  on  the  whole  better,  as  it  is 
simpler,  to  use  the  common  language.  We  re- 
quy-e  that  the  reporter  be  very  firmly  planted 
before  the  facts  which  he  observes,  not  a  mere 
passer-by,  hence  the  facts  cannot  be  too  homely. 
A  man  is  worth  most  to  himself  and  to  others, 
whether  as  an  observer,  or  poet,  or  neighbor, 
or  friend,  who  is  most  contented  and  at  home. 
There  his  life  is  the  most  intense,  and  he  loses 
the  fewest  moments.  Familiar  and  surrounding 
objects  are  the  best  symbols  and  illustrations  of 
his  life.  If  a  man  who  has  had  deep  experi 
ences  should  endeavor  to  describe  them  in  a 
book  of  travels,  it  would  be  to  use  the  language 


304  AUTUMN. 

of  a  wandering  tribe  instead  of  a  universal  lan 
guage.  The  poet  has  made  the  best  roots  in  his 
native  soil,  and  is  the  hardest  to  transplant. 
The  man  who  is  often  thinking  that  it  would  be 
better  to  be  somewhere  else  than  where  he  is, 
excommunicates  himself.  Here  I  have  been 
these  forty  years  learning  the  language  of  these 
fields  that  I  may  the  better  express  myself.  If 
I  should  travel  to  the  prairies,  I  should  much 
less  understand  them,  and  my  past  life  would 
serve  me  but  ill  to  describe  them.  Many  a 
weed  stands  for  more  of  life  to  me  than  the  big 
trees  of  California  would  if  I  should  go  there. 
We  need  only  travel  enough  to  give  our  intel 
lects  an  airing.  In  spite  of  Malthus  and  the 
rest,  there  will  be  plenty  of  room  in  this  world, 
if  every  man  will  mind  his  own  business.  I 
have  not  heard  of  any  planet  running  agauist 
another  yet. 

p.  M.  To  Ministerial  Swamp.  Some  bank- 
swallows'  nests  are  exposed  by  the  caving  of  the 
bank  at  Clamshell.  The  very  smallest  hole  is 
about  two  and  a  half  inches  wide  horizontally, 
and  barely  one  high.  All  are  much  wider  than 
high.  One  nest,  with  an  egg  in  it  still,  is  com 
pletely  exposed.  The  cavity  at  the  end  is 
shaped  like  a  thick  hoe-cake  or  lens,  about  six 
inches  wide  and  somewhat  more  than  two  thick 
vertically.  The  nest  is  a  regular  but  shallow 


AUTUMN.  305 

one,  made  simply  of  stubble,  about  five  inches 
in  diameter  and  three  quarters  of  an  inch  thick. 

Returning,  I  see,  methinks,  two  gentlemen 
plowing  a  field  as  if  to  try  an  agricultural  ex 
periment.  As  it  is  very  cold  and  windy,  both 
plowman  and  driver  have  their  coats  on.  But 
when  I  get  nearer,  I  hear  the  driver  speak  in  a 
peculiarly  sharp  and  petulant  manner  to  the 
plowman,  as  they  are  turning  the  furrow,  and  I 
know  at  once  that  they  belong  to  those  two 
races  which  are  so  slow  to  amalgamate.  Thus 
my  little  Idyl  is  disturbed. 

In  the  large  Wheeler  field,  Ranunculus  bul- 
bosus  in  full  bloom. 

The  hardy  tree  sparrow  has  taken  the  place 
of  the  chipping  and  song  sparrow,  so  much  like 
the  former  that  most  do  not  know  it  is  another. 
His  faint  lisping  chip  will  keep  up  our  spirits 
till  another  spring. 

I  observed  this  afternoon  how  some  bullocks 
had  a  little  sportiveness  forced  upon  them. 
They  were  running  down  a  steep  declivity  to 
water,  when,  feeling  themselves  unusually  im 
pelled  by  gravity  downward,  they  took  the  hint 
even  as  boys  do,  flourished  round  gratuitously, 
tossing  their  hind  -  quarters  into  the  air,  and 
shaking  their  heads  at  each  other  ;  but  what  in 
creases  the  ludicrousness  of  it  to  me  is  the  fact 
that  such  capers  are  never  accompanied  by  a 


306  AUTUMN. 

smile.  Who  does  not  believe  that  their  step 
is  less  elastic,  their  movement  more  awkward, 
from  their  long  domesticity  ? 

Nov.  20,  1855.  Again  I  hear  that  sharp, 
crackling,  snapping  sound,  and  hastening  to  the 
window  I  find  that  another  of  the  pitch-pine 
cones,  gathered  November  7th,  lying  in  the  sun, 
or  which  the  sun  has  scorched,  has  separated  its 
scales  very  slightly  at  the  apex.  It  is  only  dis 
coverable  on  a  close  inspection,  but  while  I  look 
the  whole  cone  opens  its  scales  with  a  smart 
crackling,  and  rocks,  and  seems  to  bristle  up, 
scattering  the  dry  pitch  on  the  surface.  They 
all  thus  fairly  loosen  and  open,  though  they  do 
not  at  once  spread  wide  open.  It  is  almost  like 
the  disintegration  of  glass.  As  soon  as  the  ten 
sion  is  relaxed  in  one  part,  it  is  relaxed  in  every 
part. 

Nov.  20, 1858.  P.  M.  To  Ministerial  Swamp. 
[Martial  Miles]  says  that  a  marsh  hawk  had 
a  nest  in  his  meadow  several  years,  and  though 
he  shot  the  female  three  times,  the  male,  with 
but  little  delay,  returned  with  a  new  mate.  He 
often  watched  these  birds,  and  saw  that  the 
female  could  tell  when  the  male  was  coining,  a 
long  way  off.  He  thought  the  male  fed  her 
and  the  young  all  together.  She  would  utter  a 
scream  when  she  perceived  him,  and  rising  into 
the  air  (before  or  after  the  scream  ?),  she  turned 


AUTUMN.  307 

over  with  her  talons  uppermost,  while  he  passed 
some  three  rods  above,  and  caught  without  fail 
the  prey  which  he  let  drop,  and  then  carried  it 
to  her  young.  He  had  seen  her  do  this  many 
times,  and  always  without  failing. 

I  go  across  the  great  Wheeler  pasture.  It  is 
a  cool  but  pleasant  November  afternoon.  The 
glory  of  November  is  in  its  silvery,  sparkling 
lights,  the  air  is  so  clear,  and  there  are  so  many 
bare,  polished,  bleached  or  hoary  surfaces  to  re 
flect  the  light.  Few  things  are  more  exhilarat 
ing,  if  it  is  only  moderately  cold,  than  to  walk 
over  bare  pastures,  and  see  the  abundant  sheeny 
light,  like  a  universal  halo,  reflected  from  the 
russet  and  bleached  earth.  The  earth  shines 
perhaps  more  than  in  spring,  for  the  reflecting 
surfaces  are  less  dimmed  now.  It  is  not  a  red, 
but  a  white  light.  There  are  several  kinds  of 
twigs,  this  year's  shoots  of  shrubs,  which  have  a 
slight  down,  or  haziness,  hardly  perceptible  in 
ordinary  lights,  though  held  in  the  hand,  but 
which  seen  toward  the  sun  reflect  a  sheeny,  sil 
very  light.  Such  are  not  only  the  sweet-fern, 
but  the  hazel  in  a  less  degree,  alder  twigs,  and 
even  the  short  huckleberry  twigs,  also  lespedeza 
stems.  It  is  as  if  they  were  covered  with  a 
myriad  fine  spicula3,  which  reflect  a  dazzling 
white  light  exceedingly  warming  to  the  spirits 
and  imagination.  This  gives  a  character  of 


308  AUTUMN. 

snug  warmth  and  cheerfulness  to  the  swamp,  as 
if  it  were  a  place  where  the  sun  consorted  with 
rabbits  and  partridges.  Each  individual  hair 
on  every  such  shoot  above  the  swamp  is  bathed 
in  glowing  sunlight,  and  is  directly  conversant 
with  the  day  god. 

As  I  returned  over  Conantum  summit  yester 
day  just  before  sunset,  and  was  admiring  the  va 
rious  rich  browns  of  the  shrub-oak  plain  across 
the  river,  which  seemed  to  me  more  wholesome 
and  remarkable,  as  more  permanent  than  the 
late  brilliant  colors,  I  was  surprised  to  see  a 
broad  halo  traveling  with  me,  and  always  op 
posite  the  sun  to  me,  at  least  one  fourth  mile 
off,  and  some  three  rods  wide  on  the  shrub  oaks. 

The  rare,  wholesome  and  permanent  beauty  of 
withered  oak  leaves  of  various  hues  of  brown, 
mottling  a  hillside,  especially  seen  when  the  sun 
is  low,  Quaker  colors,  sober  ornaments,  beauty 
that  quite  satisfies  the  eye,  —  the  richness  and 
variety  are  the  same  as  before,  the  colors  differ 
ent,  more  incorruptible  and  lasting. 

Sprague  of  Cohasset  states  to  the  Natural 
History  Society  Sept.  1,  1858,  that  the  light 
under  the  tail  of  the  common  glow-worm  "re 
mained  for  fifteen  minutes  after  death." 

Nov.  21,  1850.  The  witch  hazel  blossom  on 
Conantum  has,  for  the  most  part,  lost  its  ribbons 
now. 


AUTUMN.  309 

I  saw  the  sun  falling  on  a  distant  white-pine 
wood  whose  gray  and  moss-covered  stems  were 
visible  amid  the  green,  in  an  angle  where  this 
forest  abutted  of.  a  hill  covered  with  shrub  oaks. 
It  was  like  looking  into  dreamland.  It  is  one 
of  the  avenues  to  my  future.  Certain  coinci 
dences  like  this  are  accompanied  by  a  certain 
flash  as  of  hazy  lightning  flooding  all  the  world 
suddenly  with  a  tremulous,  serene  light  which  it 
is  difficult  to  see  long  at  a  time. 

I  saw  Fair  Haven  Pond  with  its  island,  and  a 
strip  of  perfectly  still  and  smooth  water  in  the 
lee  of  the  island,  and  two  hawks,  fish-hawks,  per 
haps,  sailing  over  it.  I  did  not  see  how  it  could 
be  improved.  Yet  I  do  not  see  what  these 
things  can  be.  I  begin  to  see  such  an  object 
when  I  cease  to  understand  it,  and  see  that  I  did 
not  realize  or  appreciate  it  before,  but  I  get  no 
further  than  this.  How  adapted  these  forms 
and  colors  to  my  eye !  A  meadow  and  an  island ! 
What  are  these  things  ?  Yet  the  hawks  and  the 
ducks  keep  so  aloof  !  and  nature  is  so  reserved  ! 
I  am  made  to  love  the  pond  and  the  meadow,  as 
the  wind  is  made  to  ripple  the  water. 

Nov.  21,  1851.  Better  men  than  they  hire  to 
come  here  never  lecture.  Why  don't  they  ask 
Edmund  Hosmer  or  George  Minott  ?  I  would 
rather  hear  them  decline  than  most  of  these 
hirelings  lecture. 


310  AUTUMN. 

Nov.  21  [?],  1857.  P.  M.  Up  Assabet.  Just 
above  the  grape-hung  birches,  my  attention  was 
drawn  to  a  singular  looking  dry  leaf  or  parcel 
of  leaves  on  the  shore  about  a  r^d  off.  Then  I 
thought  it  might  be  the  dry  and  yellowed  skele 
ton  of  a  bird  with  all  its  ribs  ;  then,  the  shell  of 
a  turtle,  or  possibly  some  large  dry  oak  leaves 
peculiarly  curled  and  cut ;  and  then  all  at  once 
I  saw  that  it  was  a  woodcock,  perfectly  still, 
with  its  head  drawn  in,  standing  on  its  great 
pink  feet.  I  had  apparently  noticed  only  the 
yellowish-brown  portions  of  the  plumage,  refer 
ring  the  dark-brown  to  the  shore  behind  it.  May 
it  not  be  that  the  yellowish-brown  markings  of 
the  bird  correspond  somewhat  to  its  skeleton? 
At  any  rate,  with  my  eye  steadily  on  it  from  a 
point  within  a  rod,  I  did  not  for  a  considerable 
time  suspect  it  to  be  a  living  creature.  Exam 
ining  the  shore  after  it  had  flown  with  a  whis 
tling  flight,  I  saw  that  there  was  a  clear  shore  of 
mud  between  the  water  and  the  edge  of  ice  crys 
tals  about  two  inches  wide,  melted  so  far  by  the 
lapse  of  the  water,  and  all  along  the  edge  of  the 
ice,  for  a  rod  or  two  at  least,  there  was  a  hole 
where  it  had  thrust  its  bill  down,  probing  every 
half  inch,  frequently  closer.  Some  animal  life 
must  be  collected  at  that  depth  just  in  that  nar 
row  space,  savory  morsels  for  this  bird.  .  .  .  The 
chubby  bird  darted  away  zigzag,  carrying  its 


AUTUMN.  311 

long  tongue-case  carefully  before  it  over  the 
witch  hazel  bushes.  This  is  its  walk,  the  portion 
of  the  shore,  the  narrow  strip  still  left  open  and 
unfrozen  between  the  water's  edge  and  the  ice. 

Nov.  21,  1860.  Another  finger-cold  evening, 
which  I  improve  in  pulling  my  turnips,  the  usual 
amusement  of  such  weather,  before  they  shall  be 
frozen  in.  It  is  worth  while  to  see  how  green 
and  lusty  they  are  yet,  still  adding  to  their  stock 
of  nutriment  for  another  year,  and  between  the 
green  and  also  withering  leaves  it  does  me  good 
to  see  their  great  crimson  round  or  scalloped  tops 
sometimes  quite  above  ground,  they  are  so  bold. 
They  remind  you  of  rosy  cheeks  in  cold  weather, 
and  indeed  there  is  a  relationship.  Even  pull 
ing  turnips  when  the  first  cold  weather  numbs 
your  fingers,  like  every  other  kind  of  harvestry, 
is  interesting,  if  you  have  been  the  sower,  and 
have  not  sown  too  many. 

Nov.  22,  1851.  At  the  brook  [Saw  Mill 
Brook]  the  partridge  berries  checker  the  ground 
with  their  leaves,  now  interspersed  with  red  ber 
ries.  The  cress  at  the  bottom  of  the  brook  is 
doubly  beautiful  now,  because  it  is  green  while 
most  other  plants  are  sere.  It  rises  and  falls 
and  waves  with  the  current. 

As  I  returned  through  Hosmer's  field,  the  sun 
was  just  setting  beneath  a  black  cloud  by  which 
it  had  been  obscured,  and  as  it  had  been  a  cold 


312  AUTUMN. 

and  windy  afternoon,  its  light,  which  fell  sud 
denly  on  some  white  pines  between  me  and  it, 
lighting  them  up  like  a  shimmering  fire,  and 
also  on  the  oak  leaves  and  chestnut  stems,  was 
quite  a  circumstance.  It  was,  from  the  contrast 
between  the  dark  and  comfortless  afternoon,  and 
this  bright  and  cheerful  light,  almost  fire.  The 
eastern  hills  and  woods,  too,  were  clothed  in  a 
still  golden  light.  It  was  a  sort  of  Indian  sum 
mer  in  the  day,  which  thus  far  has  been  denied 
to  the  year.  After  a  cold,  gray  day,  this  cheer 
ing  light  almost  warms  us  by  its  resemblance  to 
fire. 

Nwo.  22,  1853.  Geese  went  over  yesterday 
and  to-day,  also. 

If  there  is  any  one  with  whom  we  have  a 
quarrel,  it  is  most  likely  such  a  person  makes 
a  demand  on  us  which  we  disappoint. 

I  was  just  thinking  it  would  be  fine  to  get  a 
specimen  leaf  from  each  changing  tree  and  shrub 
and  plant  in  autumn,  in  September  and  October, 
when  it  had  got  its  brightest,  characteristic  color, 
intermediate  in  its  transition  from  the  green  to 
the  russet  or  brown  state,  the  color  of  its  ripe 
ness,  outline  it,  and  copy  its  color  exactly  with 
paint  in  a  book,  a  book  which  should  be  a  me 
morial  of  October,  be  entitled  October  Hues,  or 
Autumnal  Tints.  I  remember  especially  the 
beautiful  yellow  of  the  Populus  grandidentata 


AUTUMN.  313 

%. 

and  the  tints  of  the  scarlet  maple.  What  a 
memento  such  a  book  would  be,  beginning  with 
the  earliest  reddening  of  the  leaves,  woodbine, 
ivy,  etc.,  and  the  lake  of  radical  leaves,  down  to 
the  latest  oaks.  I  might  get  the  impression  of 
their  veins  and  outlines  in  summer,  and  after, 
color  them. 

Nov.  22, 1858.  About  the  first  of  November, 
a  wild  pig  from  the  West,  said  to  weigh  three 
hundred  pounds,  jumped  out  of  a  car  at  the 
depot,  and  made  for  the  woods.  The  owner  had 
to  give  up  the  chase  at  once  not  to  lose  his  pas 
sage,  while  some  railroad  employees  pursued  the 
pig  even  to  the  woods  one  and  a  half  miles  off, 
but  there  the  pig  turned  and  pursued  them  so 
resolutely  that  they  ran  for  their  lives,  and  one 
climbed  a  tree.  The  next  day  being  Sunday, 
they  turned  out  in  force  with  a  gun  and  a  large 
mastiff,  but  still  the  pig  had  the  best  of  it,  fairly 
frightened  the  men  by  his  fierce  charges,  and  the 
dog  was  so  wearied  and  injured  by  the  pig  that 
the  men  were  obliged  to  carry  him  in  their  arms. 
The  pig  stood  it  better  than  the  dog,  ran  between 
the  gun-man's  legs,  threw  him  over  and  hurt  his 
shoulder,  though  pierced  in  many  places  by  a 
pitchfork.  At  the  last  accounts,  he  had  been 
driven  or  baited  into  a  barn  in  Lincoln,  but  no 
one  durst  enter,  and  they  were  preparing  to 
shoot  him.  Such  pork  might  be  called  venison. 


314  AUTUMN.  • 

* 

He  was  caught  at  last  in  a  snare,  and  so  con 
veyed  to  Brighton. 

Nov.  22,  1860.  p.  M.  To  northwest  part  of 
Sudbury.  The  Linaria  Canadensis  [Wild 
Toad-flax]  is  still  freshly  blooming.  It  is  the 
freshest  flower  I  notice  now.  Considerable  ice 
lasting  all  day  on  the  meadows  and  cold  pools. 

This  is  a  very  beautiful  November  day,  a  cool 
but  clear  crystalline  air,  through  which  even  the 
white  pines,  with  their  silvery  sheen,  are  an 
affecting  sight.  It  is  a  day  to  behold  and  to 
ramble  over  the  stiffening  and  withered  surface 
of  the  tawny  earth.  Every  plant's  down  glistens 
with  a  silvery  light  along  the  Marlboro'  road, 
the  sweet  fern,  the  lespedeza,  and  bare  blue 
berry  twigs,  to  say  nothing  of  the  weather-worn 
tufts  of  Andropogon  scoparius.  A  thousand 
bare  twigs  gleam  like  cobwebs  in  the  sun.  I  re 
joice  in  the  bare,  bleak,  hard,  and  barren-looking 
surface  of  the  tawny  pastures,  the  firm  outline 
of  the  hills,  so  convenient  to  walk  over,  and  the 
air  so  bracing  and  wholesome.  Though  you  are 
finger-cold  toward  night,  and  you  cast  a  stone  on 
your  first  ice,  and  see  the  unmelted  crystals  under 
every  bank,  it  is  glorious  November  weather. 
You  enjoy  not  only  the  bracing  coolness,  but  all 
the  heat  and  sunlight  there  is,  reflected  back  to 
you  from  the  earth.  The  sandy  road  itself  lit 
by  the  November  sun  is  beautiful.  Shrub  oaks 


.AUTUMN.  315 

and  young  oaks  generally,  and  hazel  bushes,  and 
other  hardy  shrubs  are  your  companions,  as  if  it 
were  an  iron  age,  yet  in  simplicity,  innocence, 
and  strength,  a  golden  one. 

It  is  glorious  to  consider  how  independent  man 
is  of  all  enervating  luxuries,  and  the  poorer  he  is 
in  respect  to  them,  the  richer  he  is.  Summer  is 
gone  with  its  infinite  wealth,  and  still  nature 
is  genial  to  man.  Though  he  no  longer  bathes 
in  the  stream,  or  reclines  on  the  bank,  or  plucks 
berries  on  the  hills,  still  he  beholds  the  same  in 
accessible  beauty  around  him.  What  though  he 
has  no  juice  of  the  grape  stored  up  for  him  in 
cellars,  the  air  itself  is  wine  of  an  older  vin 
tage,  and  far  more  sanely  exhilarating  than  any 
cellar  affords.  It  is  ever  some  gouty  senior,  and 
not  a  blithe  child  that  drinks  or  cares  for  that 
so  famous  wine.  Though  so  many  phenomena 
which  we  lately  admired  have  now  vanished, 
others  are  more  remarkable  and  interesting  than 
before.  The  smokes  from  distant  chimneys,  not 
only  greater  because  more  fire  is  required,  but 
more  distinct  in  the  cooler  atmosphere,  are  a 
very  pleasing  sight,  and  conduct  our  thoughts 
quickly  to  the  roof  and  hearth  and  family  be 
neath,  revealing  the  homes  of  men. 

Maynard's  yard  and  frontage,  and  all  his 
barns  and  fences  are  singularly  neat  and  sub 
stantial,  and  the  high  road  is  in  effect  converted 


316  AUTUMN.. 

into  a  private  way  through  his  grounds.  It  sug 
gests  unspeakable  peace  and  happiness.  Yet, 
strange  to  tell,  I  noticed  that  he  had  a  tiger  in 
stead  of  a  cock  for  a  vane  on  his  barn,  and  he 
himself  looked  overworked.  He  had  allured 
the  surviving  forest  trees  to  grow  into  ancestral 
trees  about  his  premises,  and  so  attach  them 
selves  to  him  as  if  he  had  planted  them.  The 
dirty  highway  was  so  subdued  that  it  seemed  as 
if  it  were  lost  there.  He  had  all  but  stretched 
a  bar  across  it.  Each  traveler  must  have  felt 
some  misgivings,  as  if  he  were  trespassing. 
However,  the  farmer's  life  expresses  only  such 
content  as  an  ox  in  his  yard,  chewing  the  cud. 

What  though  your  hands  are  numb  with  cold, 
your  sense  of  enjoyment  is  not  benumbed.  You 
cannot  even  find  an  apple  but  it  is  sweet  to  taste. 
Simply  to  see  a  distant  horizon  through  a  clear 
air,  the  firm  outline  of  a  distant  hill,  or  a  blue 
mountain-top  through  some  new  vista,  this  is 
wealth  enough  for  one  afternoon.  We  journeyed 
to  the  foreign  land  of  Sudbury,  to  see  how  the 
Sudbury  men,  the  Hayneses  and  the  Puffers  and 
the  Brighams  live ;  we  traversed  their  pastures 
and  their  wood-lots,  and  were  home  again  at 
night. 

Nov.  23, 1850.  To-day  it  has  been  finger-cold. 
Unexpectedly  I  found  ice  by  the  side  of  the 
brooks  this  afternoon  nearly  an  inch  thick.  The 


AUTUMN.  317 

difference  in  temperature  of  various  localities  is 
greater  than  is  supposed.  If  I  was  surprised  to 
find  ice  on  the  sides  of  the  brooks,  I  was  much 
more  surprised  to  find  a  pond  in  the  woods,  con 
taining  an  acre  or  more,  quite  frozen  over,  so 
that  I  walked  across  it.  It  was  a  cold  corner 
where  a  pine  wood  excluded  the  sun.  In  the 
larger  ponds  and  the  river,  of  course  there  is  no 
ice  yet.  This  is  a  shallow,  reedy  pond.  I  lay 
down  on  the  ice  and  looked  through  at  the  bot 
tom.  The  plants  appeared  to  grow  more  up 
rightly  than  on  the  dry  land,  being  sustained 
and  protected  by  the  water.  Caddis-worms  were 
everywhere  crawling  about  in  their  handsome 
quiver-like  sheaths  or  cases. 

I  find  it  to  be  the  height  of  wisdom  not  to 
endeavor  to  oversee  myself,  and  live  a  life  of 
prudence  and  common-sense,  but  to  see  over 
and  above  myself,  entertain  sublime  conjectures, 
to  make  myself  the  thoroughfare  of  thrilling 
thoughts,  live  all  that  can  be  lived.  The  man 
who  is  dissatisfied  with  himself,  what  can  he  not 
do? 

Nov.  23,  1852.  This  morning  the  ground  is 
white  with  snow,  and  it  still  snows.  This  is  the 
first  time  it  has  been  fairly  white  this  season, 
though  once  before,  many  weeks  ago,  it  was 
slightly  whitened  for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes. 
Already  the  landscape  impresses  me  with  a 


318  AUTUMN. 

greater  sense  of  fertility.  There  is  something 
genial  even  in  the  first  snow,  and  Nature  seems 
to  relent  a  little  of  her  November  harshness. 
Men,  too,  are  disposed  to  give  thanks  for  the 
bounties  of  the  year  all  over  the  land,  and  the 
sound  of  the  mortar  is  heard  in  all  houses,  and 
the  odor  of  summer  savory  reaches  even  to  poets' 
garrets.  This,  then,  may  be  considered  the  end 
of  the  flower  season  for  this  year,  though  this 
snow  will  probably  soon  melt  again.  Among 
the  flowers  which  may  be  put  down  as  lasting 
thus  far,  as  I  remember,  in  the  order  of  their 
hardiness,  are  yarrow,  tansy,  these  very  fresh 
and  common,  cerastium  [mouse-ear  chickweed], 
autumnal  dandelion,  dandelion,  and  perhaps  tall 
buttercup,  the  last  four  scarce.  The  following 
seen  within  a  fortnight :  a  late  three  -  ribbed 
golden-rod,  blue-stemmed  golden-rod  (these  two 
perhaps  within  a  week),  Potentilla  argentea, 
Aster  undulatus,  Ranunculus  repens,  Bidens 
connata,  and  Shepherd's  purse.  I  have  not 
looked  for  witch  hazel  nor  Stellaria  media 
[common  chickweed]  lately. 

I  had  a  thought  in  a  dream  last  night,  which 
surprised  me  by  its  strangeness,  as  if  it  were 
based  on  an  experience  in  a  previous  state  of 
existence,  and  could  not  be  entertained  by  my 
waking  self.  Both  the  thought  and  the  language 
were  equally  novel  to  me,  but  I  at  once  discov- 


AUTUMN.  319 

ered  it  to  be  true,  and  to  coincide  with  my  ex 
perience  in  this  state. 

Nov.  23,  1853.  6  A.  M.  To  Swamp  Bridge 
Brook  mouth.  The  cocks  are  the  only  birds  I 
hear.  But  they  are  a  host.  They  crow  as 
freshly  and  bravely  as  ever,  while  poets  go  down 
stream,  degenerate  into  science  and  prose. 

By  eight  o'clock  the  misty  clouds  disperse, 
and  it  turns  out  a  pleasant,  calm,  and  spring 
like  morning.  The  water,  going  down,  but  still 
spread  far  over  the  meadows,  is  seen  from  the 
window  perfectly  smooth  and  full  of  reflections. 
What  lifts  and  lightens  and  makes  heaven  of 
earth  is  the  fact  that  you  see  the  reflection  of 
the  humblest  weed  against  the  sky,  but  you  can 
not  put  your  head  low  enough  to  see  the  sub 
stance  so.  The  reflection  enchants  us,  just  as 
an  echo  does. 

If  I  would  preserve  my  relation  to  nature,  I 
must  make  my  life  more  moral,  more  pure  and 
innocent.  The  problem  is  as  precise  and  simple 
as  a  mathematical  one.  I  must  not  live  loosely, 
but  more  and  more  continently. 

The  Indian  summer,  said  to  be  more  remarka 
ble  in  this  country  than  elsewhere,  no  less  than 
the  reblossoming  of  certain  flowers,  the  peep  of 
the  hylodes,  and  sometimes  the  faint  warble  of 
some  birds,  is  the  reminiscence  or  rather  the  re 
turn  of  spring,  the  year  renewing  its  youth. 


320  AUTUMN. 

At  5  P.  M.  I  saw  flying  southwest  high  over 
head  a  flock  of  geese,  and  heard  the  faint  honk 
ing  of  one  or  two.  They  are  in  the  usual  harrow 
form,  twelve  in  the  shorter  line,  and  twenty-four 
in  the  longer,  the  latter  abutting  on  the  former 
at  the  fourth  bird  from  the  front.  This  is  the 
sixth  flock  I  have  seen  or  heard  of  since  the 
morning  of  the  17th,  that  is,  within  a  week. 

Nov.  23, 1860.  Most  of  us  are  still  related  to 
our  native  fields  as  the  navigator  to  undiscovered 
islands  in  the  sea.  We  can  any  autumn  dis 
cover  a  new  fruit  there  which  will  surprise  us 
by  its  beauty  or  sweetness.  So  long  as  I  saw 
one  or  two  kinds  of  berries  in  my  walks  whose 
names  I  did  not  know,  the  proportion  of  the 
unknown  seemed  indefinitely,  if  not  infinitely, 
great.  Famous  fruits  imported  from  the  East 
or  South  and  sold  in  our  markets,  as  oranges, 
lemons,  pineapples,  and  bananas,  do  not  concern 
me  so  much  as  many  an  unnoticed  wild  berry, 
whose  beauty  annually  lends  a  new  charm  to 
some  wild  walk,  or  which  I  have  found  to  be 
palatable  to  an  outdoor  taste.  The  tropical 
fruits  are  for  those  who  dwell  within  the  tropics. 
Their  fairest  and  sweetest  parts  cannot  be  ex 
ported  nor  imported.  Brought  here,  they  chiefly 
concern  those  whose  walks  are  through  the  mar 
ket-place.  It  is  not  those  far-fetched  fruits 
which  the  speculator  imports,  that  concern  us 


AUTUMN.  321 

chiefly,  but  rather  those  which  you  have  fetched 
yourself  from  some  far  hill  or  swamp,  journeying 
all  the  long  afternoon,  in  the  hold  of  a  basket, 
consigned  to  your  friends  at  home,  the  first  of 
the  season.  As  some  beautiful  or  palatable 
fruit  is  perhaps  the  noblest  gift  of  Nature  to 
man,  so  is  a  fruit  with  which  one  has  in  some 
measure  identified  himself  by  cultivating  or  col 
lecting  it  one  of  the  most  suitable  presents  to  a 
friend.  It  was  some  compensation  for  Commo 
dore  Porter,  who  may  have  introduced  some 
cannon-balls  and  bombshells  into  parts  where 
they  were  not  wanted,  to  have  introduced  the 
Valparaiso  squash  into  the  United  States.  I 
think  that  this  eclipses  his  military  glory. 

Nov.  24,  1850.  Plucked  a  buttercup  to-day. 
I  have  certain  friends  whom  I  visit  occasionally, 
but  I  commonly  part  from  them  early,  with  a 
certain  bitter-sweet  sentiment.  That  which  we 
love  is  so  mixed  and  entangled  with  that  we  hate 
in  one  another  that  we  are  more  grieved  and 
disappointed,  aye,  and  estranged  from  one  an 
other,  by  meeting  than  by  absence.  Some  men 
may  be  my  acquaintances  merely,  but  one  whom 
I  have  been  accustomed  to  idealize,  to  have 
dreams  about  as  a  friend,  and  mix  up  intimately 
with  myself,  can  never  degenerate  into  an  ac 
quaintance.  I  must  know  him  on  that  higher 
ground,  or  not  know  him  at  all. 


322  AUTUMN. 

We  do  not  confess  and  explain  because  we 
would  fain  be  so  intimately  related  as  to  under 
stand  each  other  without  speech.  Our  friend 
must  be  broad.  His  must  be  an  atmosphere  co 
extensive  with  the  universe,  in  which  we  can 
expand  and  breathe.  For  the  most  part,  we  are 
smothered  and  stifled  by  one  another.  I  go  to 
see  my  friend  and  try  his  atmosphere.  If  our 
atmospheres  do  not  mingle,  if  we  repel  each 
other  strongly,  it  is  of  no  use  to  stay. 

Nov.  24, 1851.  Found  on  the  south  side  of  the 
[Ministerial]  swamp  the  Lygodium  palmatum, 
which  Bigelow  calls  the  only  climbing  fern  in 
our  latitude. 

Nov.  24,  1857.  Some  poets  have  said  that 
writing  poetry  was  for  youths  only,  but  not  so. 
In  that  fervid  and  excitable  season  we  only  get 
the  impulse  which  is  to  carry  us  onward  in  our 
future  career.  Ideals  are  exhibited  to  us  then 
distinctly  which  all  our  lives  after  we  may  aim 
at,  but  not  attain.  The  mere  vision  is  little 
compared  with  the  steady,  corresponding  en 
deavor  thitherward.  It  would  be  vain  for  us  to 
be  looking  ever  at  promised  lands  toward  which 
we  were  not  meanwhile  steadily  and  earnestly 
traveling,  whether  the  way  led  over  a  mountain 
top  or  through  a  dusky  valley.  In  youth,  when 
we  are  most  elastic,  we  merely  receive  an  impulse 
in  the  proper  direction.  To  suppose  this  is 


AUTUMN.  323 

equivalent  to  having  traveled  the  road,  or  obeyed 
the  impulse  faithfully  throughout  a  lifetime,  is 
absurd.  We  are  shown  fair  scenes  in  order  that 
we  may  be  tempted  to  inhabit  them,  and  not 
simply  tell  what  we  have  seen. 

Nov.  24, 1858.  It  is  a  lichen  day,  with  a  little 
moist  snow  falling.  The  great  green  lungwort 
lichen  shows  now  on  the  oaks  (strange  that  there 
should  be  none  on  the  pines  close  by),  and  the 
fresh,  bright  chestnut  fruit  of  other  kinds,  glis 
tening  with  moisture,  brings  life  and  immortality 
to  light. 

When  I  looked  out  this  morning,  the  land 
scape  presented  a  very  pretty  wintry  sight,  little 
snow  as  there  was.  Being  very  moist,  it  had 
lodged  on  every  twig,  and  every  one  had  its 
counterpart  in  a  light,  downy  white  one,  twice 
or  thrice  its  own  depth,  resting  on  it. 

Here  is  an  author  who  contrasts  love  for  "  the 
beauties  of  the  person  "  with  that  for  "  excel 
lences  of  the  mind,"  as  if  these  were  the  alterna 
tives.  I  must  say  that  it  is  for  neither  of  these 
that  I  should  feel  the  strongest  affection.  I  love 
that  one  with  whom  I  sympathize,  be  she  "  beau 
tiful  "  or  otherwise,  of  excellent  mind  or  not. 

Nov.  24,  1859.  How  pretty  amid  the  downy 
and  cottony  fruits  of  November  the  head  of  the 
white  anemone,  raised  a  couple  of  feet  from  the 
ground  on  slender  stalks,  two  or  three  together, 


824  AUTUMN. 

—  small  heads  of  yellowish- white  down  compact 
and  regular  as  a  thimble  beneath,  but,  at  this 
time,  diffusive  and  bursting  forth  above,  some 
what  like  a  little  torch  with  its  flame. 

Nov.  24,  1860.  The  first  spitting  of  snow,  a 
flurry  or  squall,  from  out  a  gray  or  slate-colored 
cloud  that  came  up  from  the  west.  This  con 
sisted  almost  entirely  of  pellets  an  eighth  of  an 
inch  or  less  in  diameter.  They  drove  along  al 
most  horizontally,  or  curving  upward  like  the 
outline  of  a  breaker  before  the  strong  and  chill 
ing  wind.  The  plowed  fields  were  for  a  short 
time  whitened  with  them.  The  green  moss 
about  the  bases  of  trees  was  very  prettily  spotted 
white  with  them,  and  also  the  large  beds  of 
cladonia  in  the  pastures.  They  come  to  con 
trast  with  the  red  cockspur  lichens  on  the  stumps 
which  you  had  not  noticed  before.  Striking 
against  the  trunks  of  the  trees  on  the  west  side, 
they  fell  and  accumulated  in  a  white  line  at  the 
base.  Though  a  slight  touch,  this  was  the  first 
wintry  scene  of  the  season.  The  air  was  so  filled 
with  these  snow  pellets  that  we  could  not  see 
a  hill  half  a  mile  off,  for  an  hour.  The  hands 
seek  the  warmth  of  the  pockets,  and  fingers  are 
so  benumbed  that  you  cannot  open  your  jack- 
knife.  The  rabbits  in  the  swamp  enjoy  it  as 
well  as  you.  Me  thinks  the  winter  gives  them 
more  liberty,  like  a  night.  I  see  where  a  boy 


AUTUMN.  325 

has  set  a  box  trap,  and  baited  it  with  half  an 
apple,  and,  a  mile  off,  come  across  a  snare  set  for 
a  rabbit  or  partridge  in  a  cowpath  in  a  pitch- 
pine  wood,  near  where  the  rabbits  have  nibbled 
the  apples  which  strew  the  wet  ground.  How 
pitiable  that  the  most  many  see  of  a  rabbit  should 
be  the  snare  some  boy  has  set  for  one ! 

The  bitter-sweet  of  a  white-oak  acorn  which 
you  nibble  in  a  bleak  November  walk  over  the 
tawny  earth,  is  more  to  me  than  a  slice  of  im 
ported  pineapple.  We  do  not  think  much  of 
table  fruits.  They  are  especially  for  aldermen 
and  epicures.  They  do  not  feed  the  imagina 
tion.  That  would  starve  on  them.  These  wild 
fruits,  whether  eaten  or  not,  are  a  dessert  for 
the  imagination. 

Nov.  25, 1850.  This  afternoon,  late  and  cold 
as  it  is,  has  been  a  sort  of  Indian  summer.  In 
deed,  I  think  we  have  summer  days  from  time 
to  time  the  winter  through,  and  that  it  is  often 
the  snow  on  the  ground  which  makes  the  whole 
difference.  This  afternoon  the  air  was  indescrib 
ably  clear  and  exhilarating,  and  though  the  ther 
mometer  would  have  shown  it  to  be  cold,  I 
thought  there  was  a  finer  and  purer  warmth  than 
in  summer,  a  wholesome,  intellectual  warmth  in 
which  the  body  was  warmed  by  the  mind's  con 
tentment,  —  the  warmth  hardly  sensuous,  but 
rather  the  satisfaction  of  existence. 


326  AUTUMN. 

The  landscape  looked  singularly  clean  and 
pure  and  dry,  the  air  like  a  pure  glass  being  laid 
over  the  picture,  the  trees  so  tidy  and  stripped 
of  their  leaves  ;  the  meadow  and  pastures  clothed 
with  clean,  dry  grass,  looked  as  if  they  had  been 
swept ;  ice  on  the  water  and  winter  in  the  air, 
but  yet  not  a  particle  of  snow  on  the  ground. 
The  woods,  divested  in  great  part  of  their 
leaves,  are  being  ventilated.  It  is  the  season 
of  perfect  works,  of  hard,  tough,  ripe  twigs,  not 
of  tender  buds  and  leaves.  The  leaves  have 
made  their  wood,  and  a  myriad  new  withes 
stand  up  all  around,  pointing  to  the  sky,  and 
able  to  survive  the  cold.  It  is  only  the  peren 
nial  that  you  see,  the  iron  age  of  the  year. 

I  saw  a  muskrat  come  out  of  a  hole  in  the  ice. 
He  is  a  man  wilder  than  Ray  or  Melvin.  While 
I  am  looking  at  him,  I  am  thinking  what  he  is 
thinking  of  me.  He  is  a  different  sort  of  man, 
that  is  all.  Pie  would  dive  when  I  went  nearer, 
then  reappear  again,  and  had  kept  open  a  place 
five  or  six  feet  square,  so  that  it  had  not  frozen, 
by  swimming  about  in  it.  Then  he  would  sit  on 
the  edge  of  the  ice,  and  busy  himself  about  some 
thing,  I  could  not  see  whether  it  was  a  clam  or 
not.  What  a  cold-blooded  fellow !  thoughts  at 
a  low  temperature,  sitting  perfectly  still  so  long 
on  ice  covered  with  water,  mumbling  a  cold, 
wet  clam  in  its  sheD.  What  safe,  low,  moderate 


AUTUMN.  327 

thoughts  he  must  have !  He  does  not  get  upon 
stilts.  The  generation  of  muskrats  do  not  fail. 
They  are  not  preserved  by  the  legislature  of 
Massachusetts. 

I  experience  such  an  interior  comfort,  far 
removed  from  the  sense  of  cold,  as  if  the  thin 
atmosphere  were  rarefied  by  heat,  were  the 
medium  of  invisible  flames,  as  if  the  whole  land 
scape  were  one  great  hearthside,  that  where  the 
shrub-oak  leaves  rustle  on  the  hillside,  I  seem 
to  hear  a  crackling  fire  and  see  the  pure  flames, 
and  I  wonder  that  the  dry  leaves  do  not  blaze 
into  yellow  flames. 

When  I  got  up  high  on  the  side  of  the  cliff, 
the  sun  was  setting  like  an  Indian  summer  sun. 
There  was  a  purple  tint  in  the  horizon.  It  was 
warm  on  the  face  of  the  rocks,  and  I  could  have 
sat  till  the  sun  disappeared,  to  dream  there.  It 
was  a  mild  sunset  such  as  is  to  be  attended  to. 
Just  as  the  sun  shines  on  us  warmly  and  se 
renely,  our  creator  breathes  on  us  and  re-creates 
us. 

Nov.  25,  1852.  At  Walden.  I  hear  at  sun 
down  what  I  mistake  for  the  squawking  of  a 
hen,  for  they  are  firing  at  chickens  hereabouts, 
but  it  proved  to  be  a  flock  of  wild  geese  going 
south. 

Nov.  25,  1853.  Just  after  the  sun  set  to 
night,  I  observed  the  northern  part  of  the 


328  AUTUMN. 

heavens  was  covered  with  fleecy  clouds  which 
abruptly  terminated  in  a  straight  line  stretching 
east  and  west  directly  over  my  head,  the  western 
end  being  beautifully  rose-tinted.  Half  an  hour 
later,  this  cloud  had  advanced  southward,  show 
ing  clear  sky  behind  it  in  the  north,  until  its 
southern  edge  was  seen  at  an  angle  of  45°  by 
me,  but  though  its  line  was  straight  as  before,  it 
now  appeared  regularly  curved  like  a  segment 
of  a  melon  rind,  as  usual. 

Nov.  25,  1857.  P.  M.  To  Hubbard's  Close, 
and  thence  through  woods  to  Goose  Pond  and 
Pine  Hill.  A  clear,  cold,  windy  afternoon.  The 
cat  crackles  with  electricity  when  you  stroke 
her,  and  the  fur  rises  up  to  your  touch.  This 
is  November  of  the  hardest  kind,  bare  frozen 
ground  covered  with  pale  brown  or  straw-colored 
herbage,  a  strong,  cold,  cutting  north  wind  which 
makes  me  seek  to  cover  my  ears,  a  perfectly 
clear  and  cloudless  sky.  The  cattle  in  the  fields 
have  a  cold,  shrunken,  shaggy  look,  their  hair 
standing  out  every  way,  as  if  with  electricity, 
like  the  cat's.  Ditches  and  pools  are  fast  skim 
ming  over,  and  a  few  slate-colored  snowbirds 
with  thick,  shuffling  twitter,  and  fine-chipping 
tree  sparrows  flit  from  bush  to  bush  in  the  other 
wise  deserted  pastures.  This  month  taxes  a 
walker's  resources  more  than  any  other.  For 
my  part,  I  should  sooner  think  of  going  into 


AUTUMN.  329 

quarters  in  November  than  in  winter.  If  you  do 
feel  any  fire  at  this  season  out  of  doors,  you  may 
depend  upon  it,  it  is  your  own.  It  is  but  a  short 
time  these  afternoons  before  the  night  cometh  in 
which  no  man  can  walk.  If  you  delay  to  start 
till  three  o'clock,  there  will  be  hardly  time  left 
for  a  long  and  rich  adventure,  to  get  fairly  out 
of  town.  November  Eat-heart,  is  that  the  name 
of  it?  Not  only  the  fingers  cease  to  do  their 
office,  but  there  is  often  a  benumbing  of  the 
faculties  generally.  You  can  hardly  screw  up 
your  courage  to  take  a  walk  when  all  is  thus 
tightly  locked  or  frozen  up,  and  so  little  is  to  be 
seen  in  field  or  wood.  I  am  inclined  to  take  to 
the  swamps  or  woods  as  the  warmest  place,  and 
the  former  are  still  the  openest.  Nature  has 
herself  become,  like  the  few  fruits  she  still 
affords,  a  very  thick-shelled  nut  with  a  shrunken 
meat  within.  If  I  find  anything  to  excite  a 
warming  thought  abroad,  it  is  an  agreeable  dis 
appointment,  for  I  am  obliged  to  go  willfully 
and  against  my  inclination  at  first,  the  prospect 
looks  so  barren,  so  many  springs  are  frozen  up, 
not  a  flower,  perchance,  and  few  birds  left,  not 
a  companion  abroad  in  all  these  fields  for  me. 
I  seem  to  anticipate  a  fruitless  walk.  I  think 
to  myself  hesitatingly,  shall  I  go  there,  or  there, 
or  there  ?  and  cannot  make  up  my  mind  to  any 
route,  all  seem  so  unpromising,  mere  surface- 


330  AUTUMN. 

walking  and  fronting  the  cold  wind,  so  that  I 
have  to  force  myself  to  it  often,  and  at  random. 
But  then  I  am  often  unexpectedly  compensated, 
and  the  thinnest  yellow  light  of  November  is 
more  warming  and  exhilarating  than  any  wine 
they  tell  of.  The  mite  which  November  con 
tributes  becomes  equal  in  value  to  the  bounty  of 
July.  I  may  meet  with  something  that  interests 
me,  and  immediately  it  is  as  warm  as  in  July,  as 
if  it  were  the  south  instead  of  the  northwest 
wind  that  blew. 

I  do  not  know  if  I  am  singular  when  I  say 
that  I  believe  there  is  no  man  with  whom  I  can 
associate,  who  will  not,  comparatively  speaking, 
spoil  my  afternoon.  That  society  or  encounter 
may  at  last  yield  a  fruit  which  I  am  not  aware 
of,  but  I  cannot  help  suspecting  that  I  should 
have  spent  those  hours  more  profitably  alone. 

I  notice  a  thimble-berry  vine  forming  an  arch 
four  feet  high  which  has  firmly  rooted  itself  at 
the  small  end. 

The  roar  of  the  wind  in  the  trees  over  my 
head  sounds  as  cold  as  the  wind  feels. 

I  shiver  about  awhile  on  Pine  Hill,  waiting 
for  the  sun  to  set.  The  air  appears  to  me 
dusky  now  after  four,  these  days.  The  land 
scape  looks  darker  than  at  any  other  season, 
like  arctic  scenery.  There  is  the  sun  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  high,  shining  on  it  through  a  per- 


AUTUMN.  331 

fectly  clear  sky,  but  to  my  eye  it  is  singularly 
dark  or  dusky.  And  now  the  sun  has  disap 
peared,  there  is  hardly  less  light  for  half  a  min 
ute.  I  should  not  know  when  it  was  down,  but 
by  looking  that  way,  as  I  stand  at  this  height. 

Returning  I  see  a  fox  run  across  the  road  in 
the  twilight.  He  is  on  a  canter,  but  I  see  the 
whitish  tip  of  his  tail.  I  feel  a  certain  respect 
for  him,  because,  though  so  large,  he  still  main 
tains  himself  free  and  wild  in  our  midst,  and  is 
so  original,  so  far  as  any  resemblance  to  our 
race  is  concerned.  Perhaps  I  like  him  better 
than  his  tame  cousin,  the  dog,  for  it. 

It  is  surprising  how  much,  from  the  habit 
of  regarding  writing  as  an  accomplishment,  is 
wasted  on  form.  A  very  little  information  or 
wit  is  mixed  up  with  a  great  deal  of  convention 
alism  in  the  style  of  expressing  it,  as  with  a 
sort  of  preponderating  paste  or  vehicle.  Some 
life  is  not  simply  expressed,  but  a  long-winded 
speech  is  made,  with  an  occasional  attempt  to 
put  a  little  life  into  it. 

Nov.  25,  1858.  While  most  keep  close  to 
their  parlor  fires  this  cold  and  blustering 
Thanksgiving  afternoon,  and  think  with  com 
passion  of  those  who  are  abroad,  I  find  the 
sunny  south  side  of  the  swamp  as  warm  as  is 
their  parlor,  and  warmer  to  my  spirit.  Aye, 
there  is  a  serenity  and  warmth  here,  which  the 


332  AUTUMN. 

parlor  does  not  suggest,  enhanced  by  the  sound 
of  the  wind  roaring  on  the  northwest  side  of  the 
swamp  a  dozen  or  so  rods  off.  What  a  whole 
some  and  inspiring  warmth  is  this  ! 

Pass  Tarbell's.  The  farmer,  now  on  the 
down-hill  of  life,  at  length  gets  his  new  barn 
and  barn  cellar  built,  far  away  in  some  unfre 
quented  vale.  This  for  twoscore  years  he  has 
struggled  for.  This  is  his  poem  done  at  last, 
to  get  the  means  to  dig  that  cavity  and  rear 
those  timbers  aloft.  How  many  millions  have 
done  just  like  him,  or  failed  to  do  it !  There  is 
so  little  originality,  and  just  as  little,  and  just  as 
much  fate,  so  to  call  it,  in  literature.  With 
steady  struggle,  with  alternate  failure  and  suc 
cess,  he  at  length  gets  a  barn  cellar  completed, 
and  then  a  tomb.  You  would  think  there  was 
a  tariff  on  thinking  and  originality. 

Nov.  25,  1860.  Last  night  and  to-day,  very 
cold  and  blustering.  Winter  weather  has  come 
suddenly  this  year.  The  house  was  shaken  by 
wind  last  night,  and  there  was  a  general  defi 
ciency  of  bed-clothes.  This  morning  some  win 
dows  were  as  handsomely  decorated  with  frost 
as  ever  in  winter.  I  wear  mittens  or  gloves, 
and  my  greatcoat.  There  is  much  ice  on  the 
meadows  now,  the  broken  edges  shining  in  the 
sun.  Now  for  the  phenomena  of  winter.  As 
I  go  up  the  meadow-side  toward  Clamshell  I 


AUTUMN.  333 

see  a  very  great  collection  of  crows  far  and  wide 
on  the  meadows,  evidently  gathered  by  this  cold 
and  blustering  weather.  Probably  the  moist 
meadows  where  they  feed  are  frozen  up  against 
them.  They  flit  before  me  in  countless  num 
bers,  flying  very  low  on  account  of  the  strong 
northwest  wind  that  comes  over  the  hill,  and  a 
cold  gleam  is  reflected  from  the  back  and  wings 
of  each,  as  from  a  weather  -  stained  shingle. 
Some  perch  within  three  or  four  rods  of  me, 
and  seem  weary.  I  see  where  they  have  been 
pecking  the  apples  of  the  meadow -side,  —  an 
immense  cohort  of  cawing  crows  which  sudden 
winter  has  driven  near  to  the  habitations  of  man. 
When  I  return  after  sunset,  I  see  them  col 
lecting,  and  hovering  over  and  settling  in  the 
dense  pine  woods,  as  if  about  to  roost  there.  .  .  . 

How  is  any  scientific  discovery  made  ?  Why, 
the  discoverer  takes  it  into  his  head  first.  He 
must  all  but  see  it.  ... 

How  often  you  make  a  man  richer  in  spirit, 
in  proportion  as  you  rob  him  of  earthly  luxuries 
and  comforts. 

Nov.  26,  1837.  I  look  around  for  thoughts, 
when  I  am  overflowing,  myself.  While  I  live 
on,  thought  is  still  in  embryo,  it  stirs  not  within 
me.  Anon  it  begins  to  assume  shape  and  come 
liness,  and  I  deliver  it,  and  clothe  it  in  its  gar 
ment  of  language.  But,  alas  !  how  often  when 


334  AUTUMN. 

thoughts  choke  me,  do  I  resort  to  a  spat  on  the 
back,  or  swallow  a  crust,  or  do  anything  but  ex 
pectorate  them. 

Nov.  26,  1857.  Minott's  is  a  small,  square, 
one  -  storied,  unpainted  house,  with  a  hipped 
roof,  and  at  least  one  dormer  window,  a  third  of 
the  way  up  the  south  side  of  a  long  hill,  which 
is  some  fifty  feet  high,  and  extends  east  and 
west.  A  traveler  of  taste  may  go  straight 
through  the  village,  without  being  detained  a 
moment  by  any  dwelling,  either  the  form  or 
surroundings  being  objectionable ;  but  very  few 
go  by  this  house  without  being  agreeably  im 
pressed,  and  therefore  led  to  inquire  who  lives 
in  it.  Not  that  its  form  is  so  incomparable,  nor 
even  its  weather-stained  color,  but  chiefly,  I 
think,  because  of  its  snug  and  picturesque  posi 
tion  on  the  hillside,  fairly  lodged  there  where 
all  children  like  to  be,  and  its  perfect  harmony 
with  its  surroundings  and  position.  For  if, 
preserving  this  form  and  color,  it  should  be 
transplanted  to  the  meadow  below,  nobody 
would  notice  it,  more  than  a  schoolhouse  which 
was  lately  of  the  same  form.  It  is  there  be 
cause  somebody  was  independent,  bold  enough  to 
carry  out  the  happy  thought  of  placing  it  high 
on  the  hillside.  It  is  the  locality,  not  the  archi 
tecture,  that  takes  us  captive.  There  is  exactly 
such  a  site  (only,  of  course,  less  open  on  either 


AUTUMN.  335 

side)  between  this  house  and  the  next  westward, 
but  few,  if  any,  even  of  the  admiring  travelers, 
have  thought  of  this  as  a  house-lot,  or  would  be 
bold  enough  to  place  a  cottage  there.  Without 
side  fences,  or  graveled  walk,  or  flower-plots, 
that  simple  sloping  bank  before  it  is  pleasanter 
than  any  front  yard,  though  many  a  visitor, 
and  many  times  the  master,  has  slipped  and 
fallen  on  the  steep  path.  From  its  position  and 
exposure,  it  has  shelter  and  warmth  and  dry- 
ness  and  prospect.  He  overlooks  the  road,  the 
meadow  and  brook,  and  houses  beyond,  to  the 
distant  Fair  Haven.  The  spring  comes  earlier 
to  that  door-yard  than  any  other,  and  summer 
lingers  longest  there. 

Nov.  26,  1859.  To  the  Colburn  farm  wood- 
lot.  The  chickadee  is  the  bird  of  the  wood,  the 
most  unfailing.  When  in  a  windy  or  in  any 
day  you  have  penetrated  some  thick  wood  like 
this,  you  are  pretty  sure  to  hear  its  cheery  note. 
At  this  season,  it  is  almost  its  sole  inhabitant. 
I  see  to-day  one  brown  creeper  busily  inspect"- 
ing  the  pitch  pines.  It  begins  at  the  base,  and 
creeps  rapidly  upward  by  starts,  adhering  close 
to  the  bark,  and  shifting  a  little  from  side  to 
side  often  till  near  the  top,  then  suddenly  darts 
off  downward  to  the  base  of  another  tree  where 
it  repeats  the  same  course.  This  has  no  black 
cockade  like  the  nuthatch. 


336  AUTUMN. 

Nov.  27, 1853.  Now  a  man  will  eat  Ms  heart, 
if  ever,  now  while  the  earth  is  bare,  barren,  and 
cheerless,  and  we  have  the  coldness  of  winter 
without  the  variety  of  ice  and  snow.  Methinks 
the  variety  and  compensation  are  in  the  stars. 
How  bright  they  are  now  in  contrast  with  the 
dark  earth ! 

JVov.  27,  1855.  P.  M.  By  river  to  J.  Farm 
er's.  He  gave  me  the  head  of  a  gray  rabbit 
which  his  boy  had  snared.  This  rabbit  is 
white  beneath  the  whole  length,  reddish  brown 
on  the  sides,  and  the  same  spotted  with  black, 
above  ;  the  hairs  coarse  and  homely,  yet  the  fur 
beneath  thick  and  slate-colored,  as  usual ;  well 
defended  from  the  cold  ;  sides,  I  might  say, 
pale-brick  color,  the  brown  part.  The  fur 
under  the  feet  dirty  yellowish,  as  if  stained  by 
what  it  trod  upon. 

Farmer  said  that  his  grandfather,  who  could 
remember  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  years 
before  this,  told  him  that  they  used  to  catch 
wolves  in  Carter's  pasture  by  the  North  River, 
east  of  Dodge's  Brook,  in  this  manner:  they 
piled  up  logs  cob-house  fashion,  beginning  with 
a  large  base,  eight  or  ten  feet  square,  and  nar 
rowing  successively  each  tier,  so  as  to  make 
steps  for  the  wolves  to  the  top,  say  ten  feet  high. 
Then  they  put  a  dead  sheep  within.  A  wolf 
soon  found  it  in  the  night,  sat  down  outside,  and 


AUTUMN.  337 

howled  till  he  called  his  comrades  to  him,  and 
then  they  ascended  step  by  step,  and  jumped 
down  within ;  but  when  they  had  done  eating, 
they  could  not  get  out  again.  They  always 
found  one  of  the  wolves  dead,  and  supposed  he 
was  punished  for  betraying  the  others  into  this 
trap.  A  man  in  Brighton,  whom  he  fully  be 
lieves,  told  him  that  he  built  a  bower  near  a 
dead  horse,  and  placed  himself  within,  to  shoot 
crows.  One  crow  took  his  station  as  sentinel 
on  the  top  of  a  tree,  and  thirty  or  forty  alighted 
upon  the  horse.  He  fired  and  killed  seven  or 
eight.  But  the  rest,  instead  of  minding  him, 
immediately  flew  to  their  sentinel,  and  pecked 
him  to  pieces  before  his  eyes.  Also  Mr.  Joseph 
Clark  told  him  that  as  he  was  going  along  the 
road,  he  cast  a  stick  over  the  wall  and  hit  some 
crows  in  a  field,  whereupon  they  flew  directly  at 
their  sentinel  on  an  apple-tree  and  beat  and 
buffeted  him  away  to  the  woods  as  far  as  he 
could  see. 

Nov.  27,  1857.  Standing  before  Stacy's  large 
glass  windows,  this  morning,  I  saw  that  they 
were  gloriously  ground  by  the  frost.  I  never 
saw  such  beautiful  feather  and  fir  like  frosting. 
His  windows  are  filled  with  fancy  articles  and 
toys  for  Christmas  and  New  Year's  presents, 
but  this  delicate  and  graceful  outside  frosting 
surpassed  them  all  infinitely.  I  saw  countless 


338  AUTUMN. 

feathers  with  very  distinct  midribs  and  fine 
pinnae.  The  half  of  a  trunk  seemed  to  rise  in 
each  case  up  along  the  sash,  and  these  feathers 
branched  off  from  it  all  the  way,  sometimes  nearly 
horizontally.  Other  crystals  looked  like  fine 
plumes,  of  the  natural  size.  If  glass  could  be 
ground  to  look  like  this,  how  glorious  it  would 
be.  You  can  tell  which  shopman  has  the  hot 
test  fire  within,  by  the  frost  being  melted  off. 
I  was  never  so  struck  by  the  gracefulness  of  the 
curves  in  vegetation,  and  wonder  that  Kuskin 
does  not  refer  to  frost  work. 

Nov.  27,  1859.  The  Greeks  and  Romans 
made  much  of  honey,  because  they  had  no 
sugar ;  olive  oil  also  was  very  important.  Our 
poets  (?)  still  sing  of  honey  (though  we  have 
sugar)  and  oil,  though  we  do  not  produce  and 
scarcely  use  it. 

Nov.  28,  1837.  Every  tree,  fence,  and  spire 
of  grass  that  could  raise  its  head  above  the  snow 
was  this  morning  covered  with  a  dense  hoar 
frost.  The  trees  looked  like  airy  creatures  of 
darkness  caught  napping.  On  this  side,  they 
were  huddled  together,  their  gray  hairs  stream 
ing,  in  a  secluded  valley,  which  the  sun  had  not 
yet  penetrated,  and  on  that  they  went  hurrying 
off  in  Indian  file  by  hedgerows  and  water 
courses,  while  the  shrubs  and  grasses,  like  elves 
and  fairies  of  the  night,  sought  to  hide  their 


AUTUMN.  339 

diminished  heads  in  the  snow.  The  branches 
and  taller  grasses  were  covered  with  a  wonder 
ful  ice-foliage  answering  leaf  for  leaf  to  their 
summer  dress.  The  centre,  diverging,  and  even 
more  minute  fibres,  were  perfectly  distinct,  and 
the  edges  regularly  indented.  These  leaves 
were  on  the  side  of  the  twig  or  stubble  opposite 
to  the  sun  (when  it  was  not  bent  toward  the 
east),  meeting  it,  for  the  most  part,  at  right 
angles,  and  there  were  others  standing  out  at 
all  possible  angles  upon  this,  and  upon  one 
another. 

It  struck  me  that  these  ghost  leaves,  and  the 
green  ones  whose  form  they  assume,  were  crea 
tures  of  the  same  law.  It  could  not  be  in  obe 
dience  to  two  several  laws,  that  the  vegetable 
juices  swelled  gradually  into  the  perfect  leaf 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  crystalline  particles 
trooped  to  their  standard  in  the  same  admirable 
order  on  the  other. 

The  river  viewed  from  the  bank  above  ap 
peared  of  a  yellowish  green  color,  but  on  a 
nearer  approach,  this  phenomenon  vanished, 
and  yet  the  landscape  was  covered  with  snow. 

Nov.  28,  1853.  Settled  with  J.  Munroe  & 
Co.,  and  on  a  new  account  placed  twelve  of  my 
books  with  him  on  sale.  I  have  paid  him  di 
rectly  out  of  pocket,  since  the  book  was  pub 
lished,  two  hundred  and  ninety  dollars,  and  taken 


340  AUTUMN. 

a  receipt  for  it.  This  does  not  include  postage, 
proof-sheets,  etc.  I  have  received  from  other 
quarters  about  fifteen  dollars.  This  has  been 
the  pecuniary  value  of  the  book. 

Dr.  Harris  described  to  me  his  finding  a 
new  species  of  cicindela  [glow-worm]  at  the 
White  Mountains  this  fall,  the  same  of  which 
he  had  found  a  specimen  there  some  time  ago, 
supposed  to  be  very  rare,  found  at  Peter's  River 
and  Lake  Superior ;  but  he  proves  it  to  be  com 
mon  near  the  White  Mountains. 

Nov.  28,  1857.  Spoke  to  Skinner  about 
that  wild-cat  which  he  says  he  heard  a  month 
ago  in  Ebby  Hubbard's  woods.  He  was  going 
down  to  Walden  in  the  evening  (with  a  com 
panion)  to  see  if  geese  had  not  settled  in  it, 
when  they  heard  this  sound,  which  his  compan 
ion,  at  first,  thought  made  by  a  coon,  but  Skin 
ner  said  it  was  a  wild-cat.  He  says  he  has 
heard  them  often  in  the  Adirondack  region, 
where  he  has  purchased  furs.  He  told  his  com 
panion  he  would  hear  it  again  soon,  and  he  did, 
somewhat  like  the  domestic  cat,  a  low  sort  of 
growling,  and  then  a  sudden  quick-repeated 
caterwaul,  or  yow-yow-yow  or  yang-yang-yang. 
He  says  they  utter  this  from  time  to  time  when 
on  the  track  of  some  prey. 

Nov.  28,  1858.  A  gray,  overcast,  still  day, 
and  more  small  birds,  tree  sparrows  and  chicka- 


AUTUMN.  341 

dees,  than  usual  about  the  house.  There  have 
been  a  very  few  fine  snowflakes  falling  for 
many  hours,  and  now,  by  2  P.  M.,  a  regular  snow 
storm  has  commenced,  fine  flakes  falling  steadily, 
and  rapidly  whitening  all  the  landscape.  In 
half  an  hour  the  russet  landscape  is  painted 
white,  even  to  the  horizon.  Do  we  know  of  any 
other  so  silent  and  sudden  a  change  ? 

I  cannot  now  walk  without  leaving  a  track 
behind  me.  That  is  one  peculiarity  of  winter 
walking.  Anybody  may  follow  my  trail.  I 
have  walked,  perhaps,  a  particular  wild  path 
along  some  swamp  side  all  summer,  and  thought 
to  myself,  I  am  the  only  villager  that  ever 
comes  here.  But  I  go  out  shortly  after  the 
first  snow  has  fallen,  and  lo,  here  is  the  track  of 
a  sportsman  and  his  dog  in  my  secluded  path, 
and  probably  he  preceded  me  in  the  summer  as 
well.  But  my  hour  is  not  his,  and  I  may  never 
meet  him. 

Nov.  28,  1859.  Saw  Abel  Brooks  with  a 
half -bushel  basket  on  his  arm.  He  was  picking 
up  chips  on  his  and  neighboring  lots,  had  got 
about  two  quarts  of  old  and  blackened  pine 
chips,  and  with  these  was  returning  home  at 
dusk  more  than  a  mile,  —  such  a  petty  quan 
tity  as  you  would  hardly  have  gone  to  the  end 
of  your  yard  for,  and  yet  he  said  he  had  got 
more  than  two  cords  of  them  at  home,  which  he 


342  AUTUMN. 

had  collected  thus,  and  sometimes  with  a  wheel 
barrow.  He  had  thus  spent  an  hour  or  two, 
and  walked  two  or  three  miles  in  a  cool  Novem 
ber  evening,  to  pick  up  two  quarts  of  pine  chips 
scattered  through  the  woods.  He  evidently 
takes  real  satisfaction  in  collecting  his  fuel, 
perhaps  gets  more  heat  of  all  kinds  out  of  it 
than  any  man  in  town.  He  is  not  reduced  to 
taking  a  walk  for  exercise,  as  some  are.  It  is 
one  thing  to  own  a  wood -lot  as  he  does  who 
perambulates  its  bounds  almost  daily,  so  as  to 
have  worn  a  path  about  it,  and  another  to  own 
one  as  many  a  person  does,  who  hardly  knows 
where  it  is.  Evidently  the  quantity  of  chips 
in  his  basket  is  not  essential.  It  is  the  chip 
ping  idea  which  he  pursues.  It  is  to  him  an 
unaccountably  pleasing  occupation,  and  no  doubt 
he  loves  to  see  his  pile  grow  at  home.  Think 
how  variously  men  spend  the  same  hour  in  the 
same  village.  The  lawyer  sits  talking  with  his 
client  after  twilight,  the  trader  is  weighing  sugar 
and  salt,  while  Abel  Brooks  is  hastening  home 
from  the  woods  with  his  basket  half  full  of  chips. 
I  think  I  should  prefer  to  be  with  Brooks.  He 
was  literally  as  smiling  as  a  basket  of  chips. 

Nov.  29,  1839.  Many  brave  men  have  there 
been,  thank  fortune,  but  I  shall  never  grow 
brave  by  comparison.  When  I  remember  my 
self,  I  shall  forget  them. 


AUTUMN.  348 

Cambridge,  Nov.  29,  1841.  One  must  fight 
his  way  after  a  fashion,  even  in  the  most  civil 
and  polite  society.  The  most  truly  kind  and 
generous  have  to  be  won  by  a  sort  of  valor,  for 
the  seeds  of  suspicion  as  well  as  those  of  confi 
dence  lurk  in  every  spadeful  of  earth.  Officers 
of  respectable  institutions  turn  the  cold  shoulder 
to  you,  though  they  are  known  as  genial  and  well- 
disposed  persons.  They  cannot  imagine  you  to 
be  other  than  a  ro^ue.  It  is  that  instinctive 
principle  which  makes  the  cat  show  her  talons, 
when  you  take  her  by  the  paw.  Certainly  that 
valor  which  can  open  the  hearts  of  men  is  su 
perior  to  that  which  can  only  open  the  gates  of 
cities.  You  must  let  people  see  that  they  serve 
themselves  more  than  you. 

Nov.  29,  1850.  Still  misty,  drizzling  weather 
without  snow  or  ice.  The  pines  standing  in  the 
ocean  of  mist  seen  from  the  Cliffs  are  trees  in 
every  stage  of  transition  from  the  actual  to  the 
imaginary.  The  near  are  more  distant,  the  dis 
tant  more  faint,  till  at  last  they  are  a  mere 
shadowy  cone  in  the  distance.  You  can  com 
mand  only  a  circle  of  thirty  or  forty  rods  in 
diameter.  As  you  advance,  the  trees  gradually 
come  out  of  the  mist,  and  take  form  before  your 
eyes.  You  are  reminded  of  your  dreams.  Life 
looks  like  a  dream.  You  are  prepared  to  see 
visions. 


344  A  UTUMN. 

Nov.  29,  1853.  p.  M.  To  J.  P.  Brown's 
Pond  Hole.  J.  Hosmer  showed  me  a  pestle 
which  his  son  had  found  this  summer,  while 
plowing  on  the  plain  between  his  house  and 
the  river.  It  has  a  rude  bird's  head,  a  hawk's 
or  eagle's,  the  beak  and  eyes  (the  latter  a  mere 
prominence)  serving  for  a  knob  or  handle.  It 
is  affecting  as  a  work  of  art  by  a  people  who 
have  left  so  few  traces  of  themselves,  a  step 
beyond  the  common  arrow-head  and  pestle  and 
axe,  something  more  fanciful,  a  step  beyond 
pure  utility.  As  long  as  I  find  traces  of  works 
of  convenience  merely,  however  much  skill  they 
show,  I  am  not  so  much  affected  as  when  I  dis 
cover  works  which  evince  the  exercise  of  fancy 
and  taste,  however  rude.  It  is  a  great  step  to 
find  a  pestle  whose  handle  is  ornamented  with  a 
bird's-head  knob.  It  brings  the  maker  still 
nearer  to  the  races  which  so  ornament  their  um 
brellas  and  cane  handles.  I  have  then  evidence 
in  stone  that  men  lived  here  who  had  fancies  to 
be  pleased,  and  in  whom  the  first  steps  toward 
a  complete  culture  were  taken.  It  implies  so 
many  more  thoughts  such  as  I  have.  The  arrow 
head,  too,  suggests  a  bird,  but  a  relation  to  it 
not  in  the  least  godlike.  But  here  an  Indian 
has  patiently  sat,  and  fashioned  a  stone  in  a 
likeness  of  a  bird,  and  added  some  pure  beauty 
to  that  pure  utility,  and  so  far  has  begun  to 


AUTUMN.  345 

leave  behind  him  war  and  even  hunting,  —  to 
redeem  himself  from  the  savage  state.  Enough 
of  this  would  have  saved  him  from  extermina 
tion. 

It  has  been  cloudy  and  milder  this  afternoon, 
but  now  I  begin  to  see  in  the  western  horizon  a 
clear  crescent  of  yellowish  sky,  and  suddenly  a 
glorious  yellow  sunlight  falls  on  all  the  eastern 
landscape,  russet  fields  and  hillsides,  evergreens 
and  rustling  oaks,  and  single  leafless  trees.  In 
addition  to  the  clearness  of  the  air  at  this  sea 
son,  the  light  is  all  from  one  side,  and  none 
being  absorbed  or  dissipated  in  the  heavens,  but 
it  being  reflected  both  from  the  russet  earth  and 
the  clouds,  it  is  intensely  bright.  All  the  limbs 
of  a  maple  seen  far  eastward  rising  over  a  hill  are 
wonderfully  distinct  and  lit.  I  think  we  have 
some  such  sunsets  as  this,  and  peculiar  to  the 
season,  every  year.  I  should  call  it  the  russet 
afterglow  of  the  year.  It  may  not  be  warm, 
but  must  be  clear  and  comparatively  calm. 

Nov.  29,  1857.  P.  M.  To  Assabet  Bath,  and 
down  bank.  Again  I  am  struck  by  the  singu 
larly  wholesome  colors  of  the  withered  oak 
leaves,  especially  the  shrub  oak,  so  thick  and  firm 
and  unworn,  without  speck,  clear  reddish-brown, 
sometimes  paler  or  yellowish-brown,  the  whitish 
under  sides  contrasting  with  the  upper  in  a  very 
cheerful  manner,  as  if  the  tree  or  shrub  rejoiced 


346  AUTUMN. 

at  the  advent  of  winter.  It  exhibits  the  fashion 
able  colors  of  the  winter  on  the  two  sides  of  its 
leaves.  It  sets  the  fashions  ;  colors  good  for 
bare  ground  or  for  snow,  grateful  to  the  eyes  of 
rabbits  and  partridges.  This  is  the  extent  of  its 
gaudiness,  red-brown  and  misty-white,  and  yet 
it  is  gay.  The  colors  of  the  brightest  flowers 
are  not  more  agreeable  to  my  eye.  Then  there 
is  the  rich  dark  brown  of  the  black  oak,  large 
and  somewhat  curled  leaf  on  sprouts,  with  its 
light,  almost  yellowish-brown  under  side.  Then 
the  salmonish  hue  of  white-oak  leaves,  with  the 
under  sides  less  distinctly  lighter.  Many,  how 
ever,  have  faded  already. 

Nov.  29,  1858.  p.  M.  To  HiU.  About  three 
inches  of  snow  fell  last  night.  How  light  and 
bright  the  day  now  ;  methinks  it  is  as  good  as  a 
half  hour  added  to  the  day.  White  houses  no 
longer  stand  out  and  stare  in  the  landscape. 
The  pine  woods  snowed  up  look  more  like  the 
bare  oak  woods  with  their  gray  boughs.  The 
river  meadows  show  now  far  off  a  dull  straw 
color  or  pale  brown  amid  the  general  white, 
where  the  coarse  sedge  rises  above  the  snow ; 
and  distant  oak  woods  are  now  indistinctly  red 
dish.  It  is  a  clear  and  pleasant  winter  day. 
The  snow  has  taken  all  the  November  out  of  the 
sky.  Now,  blue  shadows  and  green  rivers  (both 
which  I  see),  and  still  winter  life.  I  see  par- 


AUTUMN.  347 

tridge  and  mice  and  fox  tracks,  and  crows  sit 
silent  on  a  bare  oak  top. 

Nov.  29, 1859.  To  Copan.  Saw  quite  a  flock 
of  snow  buntings,  not  yet  very  white.  They  rose 
from  the  midst  of  a  stubble  field  unexpectedly. 
The  moment  they  settled  after  wheeling  around 
they  were  perfectly  concealed,  though  quite  near. 
I  could  only  hear  their  rippling  note  from  the 
earth  from  time  to  time. 

Nov.  29,  1860.  If  a  man  has  spent  all  his 
days  about  some  business  by  which  he  has 
merely  got  to  be  rich,  as  it  is  called,  has  got 
much  money,  many  houses  and  barns  and  wood- 
lots,  then  his  life  has  been  a  failure,  I  think. 
But  if  he  has  been  trying  to  better  his  condition 
in  a  higher  sense  than  this,  has  been  trying  to 
be  somebody,  that  is,  to  invest  himself,  and  get  a 
patent  for  it,  so  that  all  may  see  his  originality, 
though  he  should  never  get  above  board  (and 
great  inventors,  you  know,  commonly  die  poor), 
I  shall  think  him  comparatively  successful. 

You  would  think  that  some  men  had  been 
tempted  to  live  in  this  world  at  all,  only  by  the 
offer  of  a  bounty  by  the  general  government,  a 
bounty  on  living.  I  told  such  a  man  the  other 
day  that  I  had  got  a  Canada  lynx  here  in  Con 
cord,  and  his  instant  question  was,  "  Have  you 
got  the  reward  for  him  ?  "  "  What  reward  ?  " 
"  Why,  the  ten  dollars  which  the  State  offers." 


348  AUTUMN. 

As  long  as  I  saw  him,  he  neither  said  nor 
thought  anything  about  the  lynx,  but  only  about 
the  reward.  You  might  have  inferred  that  ten 
dollars  was  something  rarer  in  his  neighborhood 
than  a  lynx  even,  and  that  he  was  anxious  to 
see  it  on  that  account.  I  had  thought  that  a 
lynx  was  a  bright-eyed,  four-legged,  furry  beast, 
of  the  cat  kind,  very  current  indeed,  though  its 
natural  gait  is  by  leaps.  But  he  knew  it  to  be 
a  draft  drawn  by  the  cashier  of  the  Wild  Cat 
Bank  on  the  State  Treasury,  payable  at  sight. 
Then  I  reflected  that  the  first  currency  was  of 
leather,  or  a  whole  creature  (whence  pecunia, 
from  ^jecws,  a  herd),  and  since  leather  was  at 
first  furry,  I  easily  understood  the  connection 
between  a  lynx  and  ten  dollars,  and  found  that 
all  money  was  traceable  right  back  to  the  Wild 
Cat  Bank.  But  the  fact  was  that  instead  of 
receiving  ten  dollars  for  the  lynx,  I  had  paid 
away  some  dollars  in  order  to  get  him,  so  you 
see,  I  was  away  back  in  a  gray  antiquity,  behind 
the  institution  of  money,  further  than  history 
goes.  Yet  though  money  can  buy  no  fine  fruit 
whatever,  and  we  are  never  made  truly  rich  by 
the  possession  of  it,  the  value  of  things  is  com 
monly  estimated  by  the  amount  of  money  they 
will  fetch.  A  thing  is  not  valuable,  for  example, 
a  fine  situation  for  a  house,  until  it  is  convertible 
into  so  much  money,  that  is,  can  cease  to  be  what 


AUTUMN.  349 

it  is  and  become  something  else  which  you  prefer. 
So  you  will  see  that  all  prosaic  people  who  pos 
sess  only  the  common  sense,  who  believe  chiefly 
in  this  kind  of  wealth,  are  speculators  in  fancy 
stocks,  and  continually  cheat  themselves ;  but 
poets  and  all  discerning  people  who  have  an  ob 
ject  in  life,  and  know  what  they  want,  speculate 
in  real  values.  The  mean  and  low  values  of 
anything  depend  on  its  convertibility  into  some 
thing  else,  that  is,  have  nothing  to  do  with  its 
intrinsic  value.  The  world  and  our  life  have 
practically  a  similar  value  only  to  most.  A 
man  has  his  price  at  the  South,  is  worth  so  many 
dollars,  and  so  he  has  at  the  North.  Many  a 
man  has  set  out  by  saying,  I  will  make  so  many 
dollars  by  such  a  time,  or  before  I  die,  and  that 
is  his  price,  as  much  as  if  he  were  knocked  off 
for  it  by  a  Southern  auctioneer. 

Tuesday,  Nov.  30,  1841.  Cambridge.  When 
looking  over  the  dry  and  dusty  volumes  of  the 
English  poets,  I  cannot  believe  that  those  fresh 
and  fair  creations  I  had  imagined  are  contained 
in  them.  English  poetry,  from  Gower  down, 
collected  into  an  alcove,  and  so  from  the  library 
window  compared  with  the  commonest  nature, 
seems  very  mean.  Poetry  cannot  breathe  in 
the  scholar's  atmosphere.  The  Aubreys  and 
Hickeses,  with  all  their  learning,  profane  it  yet 
indirectly  by  their  zeal.  You  need  not  envy 


350  AUTUMN. 

his  feelings  who  for  the  first  time  had  cornered 
up  poetry  in  an  alcove.  I  can  hardly  be  serious 
with  myself  when  I  remember  that  I  have  come 
to  Cambridge  after  poetry.  I  think  if  it  would 
not  be  a  shorter  way  to  a  complete  volume  to 
step  at  once  into  the  field  or  wood,  with  a  very 
low  reverence  to  students  and  librarians.  On 
running  over  the  titles  of  these  books,  looking 
from  time  to  time  at  their  first  pages  or  farther, 
I  am  oppressed  by  an  inevitable  sadness.  One 
must  have  come  into  a  library  by  an  oriel  win 
dow  as  softly  and  undisturbed  as  the  light  which 
falls  on  the  books  through  the  stained  glass,  and 
not  by  the  librarian's  door,  else  all  his  dreams 
will  vanish.  Can  the  Valhalla  be  warmed  by 
steam  and  go  by  clock  and  bell  ? 

Good  poetry  seems  so  simple  and  natural  a 
thing  that  when  we  meet  it,  we  wonder  that  all 
men  are  not  always  poets.  Poetry  is  nothing 
but  healthy  speech.  Though  more  than  any 
other,  the  poet  stands  in  the  midst  of  nature,  yet 
more  than  any  other  can  he  stand  aloof  from  her. 
The  best  lines,  perhaps,  only  suggest  that  this 
man  simply  saw  or  heard  or  felt  what  seems  the 
commonest  fact  in  my  experience. 

Nothing  is  so  attractive  and  unceasingly  curi 
ous  as  character.  There  is  no  plant  that  needs 
such  tender  treatment,  there  is  none  that  will 
endure  so  rough.  It  is  the  violet  and  the  oak. 


AUTUMN.  351 

It  is  divine  and  related  to  the  heavens,  as  the 
earth  is  by  the  aurora.  It  has  no  acquaintance 
and  no  companion.  It  goes  silent  and  unob 
served  longer  than  any  planet  in  space,  but  when 
at  length  it  does  show  itself,  it  seems  like  the 
flowering  of  all  the  world,  and  its  before  unseen 
orbit  is  lit  up  like  the  track  of  a  meteor.  I  hear 
no  good  news  ever,  but  some  trait  of  a  noble 
character.  It  reproaches  me  plaintively.  I  am 
mean  in  contrast,  but  again  am  thrilled  and  ele 
vated  so  that  I  can  see  my  own  meanness,  and 
again  still,  that  my  own  aspiration  is  realized  in 
that  other.  You  reach  me,  my  friend,  not  by 
your  kind  or  wise  words  uttered  to  me  here  or 
there ;  but  as  you  retreat,  perhaps  after  .years 
of  vain  familiarity,  some  gesture  or  unconscious 
action  in  the  distance  speaks  to  me  with  more 
emphasis  than  all  those  years.  I  am  not  con 
cerned  to  know  what  eighth  planet  is  wandering 
in  space  up  there,  or  when  Venus  or  Orion  rises, 
but  if  in  any  cot  east  or  west,  and  set  behind 
the  woods,  there  is  any  planetary  character 
illuminating  the  earth. 

Packed  in  my  mind  lie  all  the  clothes 
Which  outward  nature  wears, 
For,  as  its  hourly  fashions  change, 
It  all  things  else  repairs. 

My  eyes  look  inward,  not  without, 
And  I  but  hear  myself, 


352  AUTUMN. 

And  that  new  wealth  which  I  have  got 
Is  part  of  my  own  pelf. 

For  while  I  look  for  change  abroad, 
I  can  no  difference  find, 
Till  some  new  ray  of  peace  uncalled 
Illumes  my  inmost  mind. 

As  when  the  sun  streams  through  the  wood 
Upon  a  winter's  morn, 
Where'er  his  silent  beams  may  stray, 
The  murky  night  is  gone. 

How  could  the  patient  pine  have  known 
The  morning  breeze  would  come, 
Or  simple  flower  anticipate 
The  insect's  noonday  hum, 

Till  that  new  light,  with  morning  cheer, 
From  far  streamed  through  the  aisles, 
And  nimbly  told  the  forest  trees 
For  many  stretching  miles  ? 

Nov.  30,  1851.  Another  cold  and  windy  af 
ternoon,  with  some  snow,  not  yet  melted,  on  the 
ground.  Under  the  south  side  of  a  hill  between 
Brown's  and  Tarbell's,  in  a  warm  nook,  dis 
turbed  three  large  gray  squirrels  and  some  par 
tridges,  which  had  all  sought  out  this  bare  and 
warm  place.  While  the  squirrels  hid  themselves 
in  the  treetops,  I  sat  on  an  oak  stump  by  an 
old  cellar  hole,  and  mused.  This  squirrel  is 
always  an  unexpectedly  large  animal  to  see 
frisking  about.  My  eye  wanders  across  the  val 
ley  to  the  pine  woods  which  fringe  the  opposite 


AUTUMN.  353 

side,  and  finds  in  their  aspect  something  which 
addresses  itself  to  my  nature.  Methiiiks  that  in 
my  mood  I  was  asking  nature  to  give  me  a  sign. 
I  do  not  know  exactly  what  it  was  that  attracted 
my  eye.  I  experienced  a  transient  gladness,  at 
any  rate,  at  something  which  I  saw.  I  am  sure 
that  my  eye  rested  with  pleasure  on  the  white 
pines  now  reflecting  a  silvery  light,  the  infinite 
stories  of  their  boughs,  tier  above  tier,  a  sort  of 
basaltic  structure,  a  crumbling  precipice  of  pine 
horizontally  stratified.  Each  pine  is  like  a  great 
green  feather  stuck  in  the  ground.  A  myriad 
white-pine  boughs  extend  themselves  horizontally, 
one  above  and  behind  another,  each  bearing  its 
burden  of  silvery  sunlight,  with  darker  seams 
between  them,  as  if  it  were  a  great  crumbling 
piny  precipice  thus  stratified.  On  this  my  eyes 
pastured  while  the  squirrels  were  up  the  trees 
behind  me.  That,  at  any  rate,  it  was  that  I 
got  by  my  afternoon  walk,  a  certain  recognition 
from  the  pine,  some  congratulation.  Where  is 
my  home?  It  is  indistinct  as  an  old  cellar-hole 
now,  a  faint  indentation  merely  in  a  farmer's 
field,  which  he  has  plowed  into,  rounding  off  its 
edges,  years  ago,  and  I  sit  by  the  old  site  on 
the  stump  of  an  oak  which  once  grew  there. 
Such  is  nature  where  we  have  lived.  Thick 
birch  groves  stand  here  and  there,  dark  brown 
now,  with  white  lines  here  and  there.  The  Ly- 


354  AUTUMN. 

yodium  palmatum  [climbing  fern]  is  quite 
abundant  on  that  side  of  the  swamp,  twining 
round  the  golden-rods,  etc. 

Nov.  30,  1852.  To  Pine  HiU.  The  buds  of 
the  Populus  tremuloides  show  their  down  as  in 
early  spring,  and  the  early  willows.  From  Pine 
Hill,  Wachusett  is  seen  over  Walden.  The 
country  seems  to  slope  up  from  the  west  end  of 
Walden  to  the  mountain.  Already  a  little  after 
four  o'clock,  the  sparkling  windows  and  vanes  of 
the  village  seen  under  and  against  the  faintly 
purple -tinged,  slate  -  colored  mountains,  remind 
me  of  a  village  in  a  mountainous  country  at  twi 
light,  where  early  lights  appear.  I  think  that 
this  sparkle  without  redness,  a  cold  glitter,  is 
peculiar  to  this  season. 

Nov.  30, 1853.  8  A.  M.  To  river  to  examine 
roots.  I  ascertain  this  morning  that  the  white 
root  with  eyes,  and  slaty-tinged  fibres,  and  sharp 
leaves  rolled  up,  found  gnawed  off  and  floating 
about  muskrat  houses  is  the  root  of  the  great 
yellow  lily.  The  leaf-stalk  is  yellow,  while  that 
of  the  white  lily  is  a  downy  or  mildewy  blue- 
black.  The  yellow-lily  root  is  then,  it  would 
seem,  a  principal  item  in  the  vegetable  diet  of 
the  muskrat.  I  find  that  those  large  triangular 
or  rhomboidal  or  shell-shaped  eyes  or  shoulders 
on  this  root  are  the  bases  of  leaf-stalks  which 
have  rotted  off,  but  toward  the  upper  end  of  the 


AUTUMN.  355 

root  are  still  seen  decaying.  They  are  a  sort  of 
abutment  on  which  the  leaf-stalk  rested.  The 
fine  black  dots  on  them  are  the  bases  of  the  line 
threads  or  fibres  of  the  leaf-stalk,  which  in  the 
still  living  leaf-stalk  are  distinguished  by  their 
purple  color.  These  eyes,  like  the  leaves,  of 
course,  are  arranged  spirally  across  the  roots  in 
parallel  rows,  in  quincunx  order,  so  that  four 
make  a  diamond  figure. 

Nov.  30,  1855.  This  evening  I  received 
Cholmondeley's  gift  of  Indian  books,  forty-four 
volumes  in  all,  which  came  by  the  Canada. 

On  the  twenty-seventh,  when  I  made  my  last 
voyage  for  the  season,  I  found  a  large  round 
pine  log  about  four  feet  long,  floating,  and 
brought  it  home.  Off  the  larger  end  I  sawed 
two  wheels  about  a  foot  in  diameter,  and  seven 
or  eight  inches  thick,  and  I  fitted  to  them  an 
axletree  made  of  a  joist  which  I  also  found  in 
the  river.  Thus  I  had  a  convenient  pair  of 
wheels  on  which  to  get  my  boat  up  and  roll  it 
about.  I  was  pleased  to  get  my  boat  in  by  this 
means  rather  than  on  a  borrowed  wheelbarrow. 
It  was  fit  that  the  river  should  furnish  the  ma 
terial,  and  that  in  my  last  voyage  on  it,  when 
the  ice  reminded  me  that  it  was  time  to  put  it 
in  winter  quarters. 

Nov.  30,  1856.  Minott  told  me  on  Friday  of 
an  oldish  man  and  woman  who  had  brought  to  a 


356  AUTUMN. 

muster  here  once  a  great  leg  of  bacon  boiled,  to 
turn  a  penny  with.  The  skin,  as  thick  as  sole 
leather,  was  flayed  and  turned  back,  displaying 
the  tempting  flesh.  A  tall,  raw-boned,  omniv 
orous  heron  of  a  Yankee  came  along  and  bar 
gained  with  the  woman,  who  was  awaiting  a 
customer,  for  as  much  of  that  as  he  could  eat. 
He  ate  and  ate  and  ate,  making  a  surprising 
hole,  greatly  to  the  amusement  of  the  lookers- 
on,  till  the  woman  in  her  despair,  unfaithful  to 
her  engagement,  appealed  to  the  police  to  drive 
him  off. 

Minott  Pratt  tells  me  that  he  watched  the 
fringed  gentian  this  year,  and  it  lasted  till  the 
first  week  in  November. 

Nov.  30,  1857.  A  still,  warm,  cloudy,  rain- 
threatening  day.  Surveying  the  J.  Richardson 
lot.  The  air  is  full  of  geese.  I  saw  five  flocks 
within  an  hour,  about  10  A.  M.,  containing  from 
thirty  io  fifty  each,  afterward  two  more  flocks, 
making  in  all  from  two  hundred  and  fifty  to 
three  hundred,  at  least,  all  flying  southwest  over 
Goose  and  Walden  Ponds.  You  first  hear  a 
faint  honking  from  one  or  two  in  the  northeast, 
and  think  there  are  but  few  wandering  there,  but 
look  up  and  see  forty  or  fifty  coming  on,  in  a 
more  or  less  broken  harrow,  wedging  their  way 
southwest.  I  suspect  they  honk  more,  at  any 
rate  they  are  more  broken  and  alarmed,  when 


AUTUMN.  357 

passing  over  a  village,  and  are  seen  falling  into 
their  ranks  again,  assuming  the  perfect  harrow 
form.  Hearing  only  one  or  two  honking,  even 
for  the  seventh  time,  you  think  there  are  but 
few  till  you  see  them.  According  to  my  calcu 
lation,  ten  or  fifteen  hundred  may  have  gone 
over  Concord  to-day.  When  they  fly  low  and 
near,  they  look  very  black  against  the  sky. 

Nov.  30,  1858.  P.  M.  To  Walden  with  C., 
and  Fair  Haven  Hill.  It  is  a  pleasant  day,  and 
the  snow  melting  considerably.  Though  Wal 
den  is  open,  it  is  a  perfect  winter  scene ;  this 
withdrawn,  but  ample  recess  in  the  woods,  with 
all  that  is  necessary  for  a  human  residence,  yet 
never  referred  to  by  the  London  u  Times  "  and 
Galignani's  "  Messenger,"  as  some  of  those  arctic 
bays  are.  Some  are  hastening  to  Europe,  some 
to  the  West  Indies,  but  here  is  a  bay  never 
steered  for.  These  nameless  bays,  where  the 
"  Times "  and  the  "  Tribune "  have  no  corre 
spondent,  are  the  true  bays  of  All  Saints  for  me. 
Green  pines  on  this  side,  brown  oaks  on  that, 
the  blue  sky  overhead,  and  the  white  counter 
pane  all  around.  It  is  an  insignificant  fraction 
of  the  globe  which  England  and  Russia  and  the 
filibusters  have  overrun.  The  open  pond  close 
by,  though  considerably  rippled  to-day,  affects 
me  as  a  peculiarly  mild  and  genial  object  by 
contrast  with  this  frozen  pool,  and  I  sit  down  on 


358  AUTUMN. 

the  shore  in  the  sun,  on  the  bare  rocks.  There 
seems  to  be  a  milder  air  above  it,  as  the  water 
within  it  is  milder.  Going  west  through  Wheel 
er's  Owl  wood  toward  Weird  Dell,  Well  Meadow 
Field,  I  beheld  a  peculiar  winter  scene,  seen 
many  times  before,  but  forgotten.  The  sun, 
rather  low,  is  seen  through  the  wood  with  a  cold, 
dazzling,  white  lustre,  like  that  of  burnished  tin, 
reflected  from  the  silvery  needles  of  the  pine. 
No  powerful  light  streams  through,  but  you 
stand  in  the  quiet  and  somewhat  sombre  aisles 
of  a  forest  cathedral,  where  cold  green  masses 
alternate  with  pale-brown,  but  warm,  leather- 
colored  ones ;  you  are  inclined  to  call  them  red, 
reddish  tawny,  almost  ruddy.  These  are  the  in 
ternal  decorations,  while  dark  trunks  streaked 
with  sunlight  rise  on  all  sides,  and  a  pure  white 
floor  stretches  around,  and  perhaps  a  single 
patch  of  yellow  sunlight  is  seen  on  the  white 
shaded  floor. 

Did  ever  clouds  flit  and  change,  form  and  dis 
solve  so  fast  as  in  this  clear  cold  air  ?  for  it  is 
rapidly  growing  colder,  and  at  such  a  time,  with 
a  clear  air,  wind,  and  shifting  clouds,  I  never 
fail  to  see  mother-o'-pearl  tints  abundant  in 
the  sky. 

Coming  over  the  side  of  Fair  Haven  Hill  at 
sunset,  we  saw  a  long,  large,  dusky  cloud  in  the 
northwest  horizon,  apparently  just  this  side  of 


AUTUMN.  359 

Wachusett,  or  at  least  twenty  miles  off,  which 
was  snowing,  when  all  the  rest  was  clear  sky. 
It  was  a  complete  snow  cloud.  It  looked  like 
rain  falling  at  an  equal  distance,  except  that  the 
snow  fell  less  directly,  and  the  upper  outline  of 
a  part  of  the  cloud  was  more  like  that  of  a  dusky 
mist.  It  was  not  much  of  a  snowstorm,  just 
enough  to  partially  obscure  the  mountains  about 
which  it  was  falling,  while  the  cloud  was  appar 
ently  high  above  them,  or  it  may  have  been  a 
little  this  side.  The  cloud  was  of  a  dun  color, 
and  at  its  south  end,  where  the  sun  was  just 
about  to  set,  it  was  all  aglow  on  its  under  side 
with  a  salmon  fulgor,  making  it  look  warmer 
than  a  furnace,  at  the  same  time  that  it  was 
snowing.  It  was  a  rare  and  strange  sight,  that 
of  a  snowstorm  twenty  miles  off,  on  the  verge 
of  a  perfectly  clear  sky.  Thus  local  is  all  storm, 
surrounded  by  serenity  and  beauty.  The  terres 
trial  mountains  were  made  ridiculous  beneath 
that  stupendous  range.  The  sun  seen  setting 
through  the  snow-carpeted  woods,  with  shimmer 
ing  pine  needles,  or  dark  green  spruces,  and 
warm  brown  oak  leaves  for  screens.  With  the 
advent  of  snow  and  ice,  so  much  cold  white,  the 
browns  are  warmer  to  the  eye.  All  the  red  that 
is  in  oak  leaves  and  huckleberry  twigs  comes 
out. 

I  cannot  but  still  see  in  my  mind's  eye  those 


360  AUTUMN. 

little  striped  breams  poised  in  Walden's  glaucous 
water.  They  balance  all  the  rest  of  the  world 
in  my  estimation  at  present,  for  this  is  the  bream 
I  have  just  found,  and,  for  the  time  being,  I 
neglect  all  its  brethren,  and  am  ready  to  kill 
the  fatted  calf  on  its  account.  For  more  than 
two  centuries  have  men  fished  here,  and  have 
not  distinguished  this  permanent  settler  of  the 
township.  It  is  not  like  a  new  bird,  a  transient 
visitor  that  may  not  be  seen  again  for  years,  but 
there  it  dwells  and  has  dwelt  permanently,  who 
can  tell  how  long  ?  When  my  eyes  first  rested 
on  Walden,  the  striped  bream  was  poised  in  it, 
though  I  did  not  see  it,  and  when  Tahatawan 
paddled  his  canoe  there.  How  wild  it  makes 
the  pond  and  the  township  to  find  a  new  fish  in 
it.  America  renews  her  youth  here.  But  in 
my  account  of  the  bream,  I  cannot  go  a  hair's 
breadth  beyond  the  mere  statement  that  it  exists, 
the  miracle  of  its  existence.  My  contemporary 
and  neighbor,  yet  so  different  from  me  !  I  can 
only  poise  my  thought  there  by  its  side,  and  try 
to  think  like  a  bream  for  a  moment.  I  can  only 
think  of  precious  jewels,  of  music,  poetry,  beauty, 
and  the  mystery  of  life.  I  only  see  the  bream 
in  its  orbit,  as  I  see  a  star,  but  I  care  not  to 
measure  its  distance  or  weight.  The  bream 
appreciated  floats  in  the  pond,  as  the  centre  of 
the  system,  another  image  of  God.  Its  life  no 


AUTUMN.  361 

man  can  explain,  more  than  he  can  his  own.  I 
want  you  to  perceive  the  mystery  of  the  bream. 
I  have  a  contemporary  in  Walden.  It  has  fins 
where  I  have  legs  and  arms.  I  have  a  friend 
among  the  fishes,  at  least  a  new  acquaintance. 
Its  character  will  interest  me,  I  trust,  and  not  its 
clothes  and  anatomy.  I  do  not  want  it  to  eat. 
Acquaintance  with  it  is  to  make  my  life  more 
rich  and  eventful.  It  is  as  if  a  poet  or  an  an 
chorite  had  moved  into  the  town,  whom  I  can 
see  from  time  to  time,  and  think  of  yet  oftener. 
Though  science  may  sometimes  compare  her 
self  to  a  child  picking  up  pebbles  on  the  sea 
shore,  that  is  a  rare  mood  with  her.  Ordinarily 
her  practical  belief  is  that  it  is  only  a  few  peb 
bles  which  are  not  known,  weighed  and  measured. 
A  new  species  of  fish  signifies  hardly  more  than 
a  new  name.  See  what  is  contributed  in  the 
scientific  reports.  One  counts  the  fin-rays,  an 
other  measures  the  intestines,  a  third  daguerreo 
types  a  scale,  etc. ;  as  if  all  but  this  were  done, 
and  these  were  very  rich  and  generous  contribu 
tions  to  science.  Her  votaries  may  be  seen  wan 
dering  along  the  shore  of  the  ocean  of  Truth, 
with  their  backs  toward  it,  ready  to  seize  on  the 
shells  which  are  cast  up.  You  would  say  that 
the  scientific  bodies  were  terribly  put  to  it  for 
objects  and  subjects.  A  dead  specimen  of  an 
animal,  if  it  is  only  well  preserved  in  alcohol,  is 


362  AUTUMN. 

just  as  good  for  science  as  a  living  one  preserved 
in  its  native  element.  What  is  the  amount  of 
my  discovery  to  me  ?  It  is  not  that  I  have  got 
one  in  a  bottle,  and  that  it  has  a  name  in  a  book, 
but  that  I  have  a  little  fishy  friend  in  the  pond. 
How  was  it  when  the  youth  first  discovered 
fishes  ?  Was  it  the  number  of  their  fin-rays  or 
other  arrangement,  or  the  place  of  the  fish  in 
some  system  that  made  the  boy  dream  of  them  ? 
Is  it  these  things  that  interest  mankind  in  the 
fish,  the  inhabitant  of  the  water?  No,  but  a 
faint  recognition  of  a  living  contemporary,  a 
provoking  mystery.  One  boy  thinks  of  fishes, 
and  goes  a-fishing  from  the  same  motive  that  his 
brother  searches  the  poets  for  rare  lines.  It  is 
the  poetry  of  fishes  which  is  their  chief  use,  their 
flesh  is  their  lowest  use.  The  beauty  of  the  fish, 
that  is  what  it  is  best  worth  while  to  measure. 
Its  place  in  our  systems  is  of  comparatively  little 
importance.  Generally  the  boy  loses  some  of 
his  perception  and  his  interest  in  the  fish,  and 
degenerates  into  a  fisherman  or  an  ichthyolo 
gist. 

Nov.  30,  1859.  I  am  one  of  a  committee  of 
four  (Simon  Brown,  ex  -  Lieutenant  -  Governor, 
R.  W.  Emerson,  myself,  and  John  Keyes,  late 
High  Sheriff)  instructed  by  a  meeting  of  citi 
zens  to  ask  liberty  from  the  selectmen  to  have 
the  bell  of  the  first  parish  tolled  at  the  time 


AUTUMN.  363 

Captain  Brown  is  being  hanged,  and  while  we 
shall  be  assembled  in  the  Town  House  to  express 
our  sympathy  with  him.  I  applied  to  the  select 
men  yesterday.  After  various  delays,  they  at 
length  answer  me  to-night  that  they  "  are  uncer 
tain  whether  they  have  any  control  over  the  bell, 
but  that,  in  any  case,  they  will  not  give  their 
consent  to  have  the  bell  tolled."  Beside  their 
private  objections,  they  are  influenced  by  the 

remarks  of  a  few  individuals  ;  said  that  he 

had  heard  "  five  hundred  "  damn  me  for  it,  and 
that  he  had  no  doubt,  if  it  were  done,  some 
counter  demonstration  would  be  made,  such  as 
firing  minute  guns.  A  considerable  part  of 
Concord  are  in  the  condition  of  Virginia  to 
day,  afraid  of  their  own  shadows. 

It  is  quite  warm  to-day,  and  as  I  go  home  on 
the  railroad  causeway,  I  hear  a  hylodes  peeping. 

Dec.  1,  1850.  I  saw  a  little  green  hemi 
sphere  of  moss  which  looked  as  if  it  covered  a 
stone,  but,  thrusting  my  cane  into  it,  I  found  it 
was  nothing  but  moss  about  fifteen  inches  in 
diameter,  and  eight  or  nine  inches  high.  When 
I  broke  it  up,  it  appeared  as  if  the  annual 
growth  was  marked  by  successive  layers  half  an 
inch  deep,  each.  The  lower  ones  were  quite 
rotten,  but  the  present  year's  quite  green,  the 
intermediate,  white.  I  counted  fifteen  or  eigh 
teen.  It  was  quite  solid,  and  I  saw  that  it  con- 


364  AUTUMN. 

tinned  solid  as  it  grew  by  branching  occasionally 
just  enough  to  fill  the  newly  gained  space,  and 
the  tender  extremities  of  each  plant,  crowded 
close  together,  made  the  firm  and  compact  sur 
face  of  the  bed.  There  was  a  darker  line  sep 
arating  the  growths,  where  I  thought  the  surface 
had  been  exposed  to  the  winter.  It  was  quite 
saturated  with  water,  though  firm  and  solid. 

Dec.  1,  1852.  To  Cliffs.  The  snow  keeps 
off  unusually.  The  landscape  is  of  the  color  of 
a  russet  apple,  which  has  no  golden  cheek.  The 
sunset  sky  supplies  that.  But,  though  it  is 
crude  to  bite,  it  yields  a  pleasant  acid  flavor. 
The  year  looks  back  to  summer,  and  a  summer 
smile  is  reflected  in  her  face.  There  is  in  these 
days  a  coolness  in  the  air  which  makes  me  hesi 
tate  to  call  them  Indian  summer.  At  this  sea 
son,  I  observe  the  form  of  the  buds  which  are 
prepared  for  spring,  the  large  bright  yellow  and 
reddish  buds  of  the  swamp  pink,  the  already 
downy  ones  of  the  Populus  tremuloides  and  the 
willows,  the  red  ones  of  the  blueberry,  etc.,  also 
the  catkins  of  the  alders  and  birches. 

Dec.  1,  1853.  Those  trees  and  shrubs  which 
retain  their  withered  leaves  though  the  winter, 
shrub  oaks,  and  young  white,  red,  and  black 
oaks,  the  lower  branches  of  larger  trees  of  the 
last  mentioned  species,  hornbeams,  young  hick 
ories,  etc.,  seem  to  form  an  intermediate  class 


AUTUMN.  365 

between  deciduous  and  evergreen  trees.  They 
may  almost  be  called  the  ever -reds.  Their 
leaves,  which  are  falling  all  winter  long,  serve 
as  a  shelter  to  rabbits  and  partridges,  and  other 
winter  birds  and  quadrupeds.  Even  the  chicka 
dees  love  to  skulk  amid  them,  and  peep  out  from 
behind  them.  I  hear  their  faint,  silvery,  lisp 
ing  notes,  like  tinkling  glass,  and  occasionally  a 
sprightly  day-day-day  ^  as  they  inquisitively  hop 
nearer  and  nearer  to  me.  They  are  a  most  hon 
est  and  innocent  little  bird,  drawing  yet  nearer 
to  us  as  the  winter  advances,  and  deserve  best 
of  all  of  the  walker. 

Dec.  1,  1856.  P.  M.  By  path  around  Wai- 
den.  With  this  little  snow  of  the  29th  ultimo 
there  is  yet  pretty  good  sledding,  for  it  lies 
solid.  I  see  the  pale-faced  farmer  out  again  on 
his  sled  for  the  five  thousandth  time.  Cyrus 
Hubbard,  a  man  of  a  certain  New  England 
probity  and  worth,  immortal  and  natural,  like 
a  natural  product,  like  the  sweetness  of  a  nut, 
like  the  toughness  of  hickory.  He,  too,  is  a  re 
deemer  for  me.  How  superior  actually  to  the 
faith  be  professes  !  He  is  not  an  office-seeker. 
What  an  institution,  what  a  revelation  is  a 
man  !  We  are  wont  foolishly  to  think  that  the 
creed  a  man  professes  is  more  significant  than 
the  fact  he  is.  It  matters  not  how  hard  the 
conditions  seemed,  how  mean  the  world,  for  a 


366  AUTUMN. 

man  is  a  prevalent  force,  and  a  new  law  him 
self.  He  is  system  whose  law  is  to  be  observed. 
The  old  farmer  condescends  to  countenance  still 
this  nature  and  order  of  things.  It  is  a  great 
encouragement  that  an  honest  man  makes  this 
world  his  abode.  He  rides  on  the  sled  drawn 
by  oxen  world-wise,  yet  comparatively  so  young, 
as  if  they  had  seen  scores  of  winters.  The 
farmer  spoke  to  me,  I  can  swear,  clean,  cold, 
moderate,  as  the  snow.  He  does  not  melt  the 
snow  where  he  stands.  Yet  what  a  faint  impres 
sion  that  encounter  may  make  on  me  after  all ! 
Moderate,  natural,  true,  as  if  he  were  made  of 
earth,  stone,  wood,  snow.  I  thus  meet  in  this 
universe  kindred  of  mine,  composed  of  these  ele 
ments.  I  see  men  like  frogs.  Their  peeping  I 
partially  understand. 

I  go  by  Haden's  and  take  S.  Wheeler's  wood- 
path  to  railroad.  Slate-colored  snow-birds  flit 
before  me  in  the  path,  feeding  on  the  seeds,  the 
countless  little  brown  seeds  that  begin  to  be 
scattered  over  the  snow,  so  much  the  more  obvi 
ous  to  bird  and  beast.  A  hundred  kinds  of  in 
digenous  grain  are  harvested  now,  broadcast 
upon  the  surface  of  the  snow.  Thus,  at  a  criti 
cal  season,  these  seeds  are  shaken  down  on  to 
a  clean,  white  napkin,  unmixed  with  dirt  and 
rubbish,  and  off  this  the  little  pensioners  pick 
them.  Their  clean  table  is  thus  spread  a  few 


AUTUMN.  367 

inches  or  feet  above  the  ground.  .  .  .  Will 
wonder  become  extinct  in  me  ?  Shall  I  become 
insensible  as  a  fungus  ? 

A  ridge  of  earth,  with  the  red  cock's -comb 
lichen  on  it,  peeps  out  still  at  the  rut's  edge. 

The  dear  wholesome  color  of  shrub-oak  leaves, 
so  clean  and  firm,  not  decaying,  but  which  have 
put  on  a  kind  of  immortality,  not  wrinkled  and 
thin  like  the  white-oak  leaves,  but  full-veined 
and  plump  as  nearer  earth.  Well-tanned  leather 
on  the  one  side,  sun -tanned,  color  of  colors, 
color  of  the  cow  and  the  deer,  silver-downy  be 
neath,  turned  toward  the  late  bleached  and  rus 
set  fields.  What  are  acanthus  leaves,  and  the 
rest,  to  this  ?  Emblem  of  my  winter  condition. 
I  love  and  could  embrace  the  shrub  oak,  with 
its  scanty  garment  of  leaves  rising  above  the 
snow,  lowly  whispering  to  me,  akin  to  winter 
thoughts,  and  sunsets,  to  all  virtue ;  coverts 
which  the  hare  and  the  partridge  seek,  and  I  too 
seek.  What  cousin  of  mine  is  the  shrub  oak? 
Rigid  as  iron,  clean  as  the  atmosphere,  hardy  as 
virtue,- innocent  and  sweet  as  a  maiden,  is  the 
shrub  oak.  In  proportion  as  I  know  and  love 
it,  I  am  natural  and  sound  as  a  partridge.  I 
felt  a  positive  yearning  toward  one  bush  this 
afternoon.  There  was  a  match  found  for  me  at 
last.  I  fell  in  love  with  a  shrub  oak.  Tenacious 
of  its  leaves  which  shrivel  not,  but  retain  a  cer- 


368  AUTUMN. 

tain  wintry  life  in  them,  firm  shields  painted  in 
fast  colors,  a  rich  brown.  The  deer-mouse,  too, 
knows  the  shrub  oak,  and  has  its  hole  in  the 
snow  by  the  shrub  oak's  stem.  Now,  too,  I  re 
mark  in  many  places  ridges  and  fields  of  fine 
russet  or  straw-colored  grass  rising  above  the 
snow,  and  beds  of  empty,  straw-colored  heads  of 
everlasting,  and  ragged  looking  Roman  worm 
wood.  The  blue  curls'  chalices  stand  empty, 
and  waiting  evidently  to  be  filled  with  ice.  I 
see  great  thimble-berry  bushes  rising  above  the 
snow,  with  still  a  rich,  rank  bloom  on  them,  as 
in  July,  hypaethral  mildew,  elysian  fungus  !  To 
see  the  bloom  on  the  thimble-berry  stem  lasting 
into  midwinter  I  What  a  salve  that  would 
make,  collected  and  boxed. 

No,  I  am  a  stranger  in  your  towns.  I  am  not 
at  home  at  French's  or  Lovejoy's,  or  Savery's. 
I  can  winter  more  to  my  mind  amid  the  shrub 
oaks.  I  have  made  arrangements  to  stay  with 
them.  The  shrub  oak,  lowly,  loving  the  earth, 
and  spreading  over  it,  tough,  thick-leaved,  leaves 
firm  and  sound  in  winter,  rustling  like  leather 
shields,  leaves  fair  and  wholesome  to  the  eye, 
clean  and  smooth  to  the  touch.  Tough  to  sup 
port  the  snow,  not  broken  down  by  it,  well-nigh 
useless  to  man,  a  sturdy  phalanx,  hard  to  break 
down,  product  of  New  England  soil,  bearing 
many  striped  acorns;  well  named  shrub  oak. 


AUTUMN.  369 

low,  robust,  hardy,  indigenous,  well-known  to 
the  striped  squirrel  and  the  partridge  and  the 
rabbit.  The  squirrels  nibble  its  nuts,  sitting 
upon  an  old  stump  of  its  larger  cousin.  What 
is  Peruvian  bark  to  your  bark !  How  many 
rents  I  owe  to  you,  how  many  eyes  put  out ! 
How  many  bleeding  fingers  I  How  many  shrub- 
oak  patches  I  have  been  through,  stooping, 
winding  my  way,  bending  the  twigs  aside,  guid 
ing  myself  by  the  sun,  over  hills  and  valleys  and 
plains,  resting  in  clear  grassy  spaces  I 

How  can  any  man  suffer  long  ?  for  a  sense  of 
want  is  a  prayer,  and  all  prayers  are  answered. 

Dec.  1,  1857.  P.  M.  Walking  in  Ebby  Hub- 
bard's  woods,  I  hear  a  red  squirrel  barking  at 
me  amid  the  pine  and  oak  tops,  and  now  I 
see  him  coursing  from  tree  to  tree.  How  se 
curely  he  travels  there  fifty  feet  from  the  ground, 
leaping  from  the  slender,  bending  twig  of  one 
tree  across  an  interval  of  three  or  four  feet,  and 
catching  at  the  nearest  twig  of  the  next,  which 
so  bends  under  him,  that  it  is  hard  at  first  to 
get  up.  His  traveling  is  a  succession  of  leaps 
in  the  air  at  that  height,  without  wings  !  And 
yet  he  gets  along  about  as  rapidly  as  on  the 
ground. 

I  hear  the  fainted  possible  quivet  from  a  nut 
hatch  quite  near  me  on  a  pine.  I  thus  always 
begin  to  hear  the  bird  on  the  approach  of  winter, 


370  AUTUMN. 

as  if  it  did  not  breed,  but  merely  wintered,  here. 
[Added  later.]  Hear  it  all  the  fall,  and  occa 
sionally  through  the  summer  of  '59. 

Dec.  2,  1839.  A  rare  landscape  immediately 
suggests  a  suitable  inhabitant,  whose  breath 
shall  be  its  wind,  whose  moods  its  seasons,  and 
to  whom  it  will  always  be  fair.  To  be  chafed 
and  worried,  and  not  as  serene  as  nature,  does 
not  become  one  whose  nature  is  as  steadfast  as 
she.  We  do  all  stand  in  the  front  ranks  of  the 
battle  every  moment  of  our  lives.  Where  there 
is  a  brave  man,  there  is  the  thickest  of  the  fight, 
there  the  post  of  honor.  Not  he  who  procures  a 
substitute  to  go  to  Florida  is  exempt  from  ser 
vice.  He  gathers  his  laurels  in  another  field. 
Waterloo  is  not  the  only  battle-ground.  As 
many  and  fatal  guns  are  pointed  at  my  breast 
now,  as  are  contained  in  the  English  arsenals. 

Dec.  2,  1852.  The  pleasantest  day  of  all. 
Started  in  boat  before  9  A.  M.,  down  river  to 
Billerica  with  W.  E.  C.  Not  wind  enough  for 
a  sail.  I  do  not  remember  when  I  have  taken  a 
sail  or  a  row  on  the  river  in  December  before. 
We  had  to  break  the  ice  about  the  boathouse 
for  some  distance.  Still  no  snow.  The  banks 
are  white  with  frost.  The  air  is  calm  and  the 
water  smooth.  The  distant  sounds  of  cars, 
cocks,  hounds,  etc.,  as  we  glide  past  N.  Barrett's 
farm  remind  me  of  spring.  It  is  an  anticipation, 


AUTUMN.  371 

a  looking  through  winter  to  spring.  There  is  a 
certain  resonance  and  elasticity  in  the  air  that 
makes  the  least  sound  melodious  as  in  spring. 
The  old  unpainted  houses  under  the  trees  look 
as  if  winter  had  come  and  gone.  A  side  of  one 
is  painted  as  if  with  the  pumpkin  pies  left  over 
after  Thanksgiving,  it  is  so  singular  a  yellow. 
The  river  has  risen  since  the  last  rain  a  few 
feet,  and  partially  floods  the  meadow.  See  still 
two  ducks  there.  Hear  the  jay  in  distant  copses, 
and  the  Fringilla  linaria  flies  and  mews  over. 
Some  parts  of  the  meadow  are  covered  with  ice, 
through  which  we  row,  which  yet  lasts  all  day. 
The  waves  we  make  in  the  river  nibble  and 
crumble  its  edge,  and  produce  a  rustling  of  the 
grass  and  seeds,  as  if  a  muskrat  were  stirring. 
We  land  behind  Tarbell's,  and  walk  inland. 
How  warm  in  the  hollows  !  The  outline  of  the 
hills  is  very  agreeable  there,  ridgy  hills  with 
backs  to  them.  A  perfect  cowpath  winds  along 
the  side  of  one.  These  creatures  have  such  weight 
to  carry  that  they  select  the  easiest  course.  Again 
embark.  It  is  remarkably  calm  and  warm  in 
the  sun,  now  that  we  have  brought  a  hill  between 
us  and  the  wind.  There  goes  a  muskrat.  He 
leaves  so  long  a  ripple  behind  that  in  this  light 
you  cannot  tell  where  his  body  ends,  and  think 
him  longer  than  he  is.  This  is  a  glorious  river- 
reach.  At  length  we  pass  the  bridge.  Every- 


372  AUTUMN. 

where  the  muskrat  houses  line  the  shores,  or  what 
was  the  shore,  some  three  feet  high,  and  regu 
larly  sharp,  as  the  Peak  of  Teneriffe.  C.  says, 
"  Let  us  land ;  4  the  angle  of  incidence  should 
be  equal  to  the  angle  of  reflection.'  "  We  did 
so.  By  the  island  where  I  formerly  camped, 
half  a  mile  or  more  above  the  bridge  on  the  road 
from  Chelmsford  to  Bedford,  we  saw  a  mink, 
slender,  black  at  ten  rods  distance  (Emmonds 
says  they  are  a  dark,  glossy  brown),  very  like  a 
weasel  in  form.  He  alternately  ran  along  the 
ice  and  swam  in  the  water,  now  and  then  hold 
ing  up  his  head  and  long  neck,  and  looking  at 
us,  —  not  so  shy  as  a  muskrat ;  I  should  say  very 
black.  The  muskrats  would  curl  up  into  a  ball 
on  the  ice,  decidedly  reddish  brown.  The  ice 
made  no  show,  being  thin  and  dark.  The  mink's 
head  is  larger  in  proportion  to  the  body  than 
the  muskrat's,  not  so  sharp  and  rat-like.  Left 
our  boat  just  above  the  last-named  bridge  on 
west  side.  A  bright,  dazzling  sheen  for  miles 
on  the  river  as  you  look  up  it.  Crossed  the 
bridge,  turned  into  a  path  on  the  left,  and  as 
cended  a  hill  a  mile  and  a  half  off,  between  us 
and  Billerica,  somewhat  off  from  the  river.  The 
Concord  affords  the  water  prospects  of  a  larger 
river,  like  the  Connecticut  even,  hereabouts.  I 
found  a  spear-head  by  a  mysterious  little  build 
ing.  On  the  west  side  of  the  river  in  Billerica 


AUTUMN.  373 

here  is  a  grand  range  of  hills,  somewhat  cliffy, 
covered  with  young  oaks,  whose  leaves  now  give 
it  a  red  appearance  even  when  seen  from  Ball's 
Hill.  It  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  and 
novel  features  in  the  river  scenery. 

Men  commonly  talk  as  if  genius  were  some 
thing  proper  to  an  individual.  I  esteem  it  but 
a  common  privilege,  and  if  one  does  not  enjoy  it 
now,  he  may  congratulate  his  neighbor  that  he 
does.  There  is  no  place  for  man-worship.  We 
understand  very  well  a  man's  relation,  not  to  his 
genius,  but  to  the  genius. 

Returning,  the  water  is  smoother  and  more 
beautiful  than  before.  The  ripples  we  make 
produce  ribbed  reflections  or  shadows  on  the 
dense  but  leafless  bushes  on  shore,  thirty  or 
forty  rods  distant,  very  regular,  and  so  far  they 
seem  motionless  and  permanent.  All  the  water 
behind  us,  as  we  row,  and  even  on  the  right  and 
left  at  a  distance,  is  perfectly  unruffled,  we  move 
so  fast,  but  before  us  down  stream  it  is  all  in 
commotion  from  shore  to  shore.  There  are 
some  fine  shadows  on  those  grand  red  oaken 
hills  in  the  north.  When  a  muskrat  comes  to 
the  surface  too  near  you,  how  quickly  and  with 
what  force  he  turns  and  plunges  again,  making 
a  sound  in  the  calm  water  as  if  you  had  thrown 
into  it  a  large  stone  with  violence.  Long  did  it 
take  to  sink  the  Carlisle  bridge.  The  reflections 


374  AUTUMN. 

after  sunset  were  distinct  and  glorious,  the  heaven 
into  which  we  unceasingly  rowed.  I  thought 
now  that  the  angle  of  reflection  was  greater  than 
the  angle  of  incidence.  It  grew  cooler ;  the 
stars  came  out  soon  after  we  turned  Ball's  Hill, 
and  it  became  difficult  to  distinguish  our  course. 
The  boatman  knows  a  river  by  reaches.  Got 
home  in  the  dark,  our  feet  and  legs  numb  and 
cold  with  sitting  and  inactivity,  having  been 
about  eight  miles  by  river,  etc.  It  was  some 
time  before  we  recovered  the  full  use  of  our 
cramped  legs.  I  forgot  to  speak  of  the  after 
glows.  The  twilight  in  fact  had  several  stages, 
and  several  times  after  it  had  grown  dusky, 
acquired  a  new  transparency,  and  the  trees  on 
the  hillsides  were  lit  up  again. 

Dec.  2,  1853.  The  skeleton,  which  at  first 
sight  produces  only  a  shudder  in  all  mortals, 
becomes  at  last,  not  only  a  pure,  but  a  sugges 
tive  and  pleasing  object  to  science.  The  more 
we  know  of  it,  the  less  we  associate  it  with  any 
goblin  of  our  imagination.  The  longer  we  keep 
it,  the  less  likely  it  is  that  any  such  will  come 
to  claim  it.  We  discover  that  the  only  spirit 
which  haunts  it  is  a  universal  Intelligence  which 
has  created  it  in  harmony  with  all  nature.  Sci 
ence  never  saw  a  ghost,  nor  does  it  look  for  any, 
but  it  sees  everywhere  the  traces,  and  is  itself 
the  agent,  of  a  Universal  Intelligence. 


AUTUMN.  375 

Dec.  2,  1856.  Saw  Melvin's  lank,  bluish- 
white,  black-spotted  hound,  and  Melvin  with  his 
gun  near  by,  going  home  at  eve.  He  follows 
hunting,  praise  be  to  him,  as  regularly  in  our 
tame  fields  as  the  farmers  follow  farming  ;  per 
sistent  genius,  how  I  respect  and  thank  him  for 
it.  I  trust  the  Lord  will  provide  us  with  an 
other  Melvin  when  he  is  gone.  How  good  in 
him  to  follow  his  own  bent,  and  not  continue  at 
the  sabbath-school  all  his  days  !  What  a  wealth 
he  thus  becomes  to  the  neighborhood.  Few 
know  how  to  take  the  census.  I  thank  my  stars 
for  Melvin,  who  is  such  a  trial  to  his  mother. 
He  is  agreeable  to  me  as  a  tinge  of  russet  on 
the  hillside.  I  would  fain  give  thanks  morn 
ing  and  evening  for  my  blessings.  Awkward, 
gawky,  loose-hung,  dragging  his  legs  after  him, 
he  is  my  contemporary  and  neighbor.  He  is  of 
one  tribe,  I  of  another,  and  we  are  not  at  war. 

How  quickly  men  come  on  to  the  highways 
with  their  sleds,  and  improve  the  first  snow. 
The  farmer  has  begun  to  play  with  his  sled  as 
early  as  any  of  the  boys.  I  see  him  already 
with  mittens  on  and  thick  boots  well-greased, 
and  fur  cap,  and  red  comforter  about  his  throat, 
though  it  is  not  yet  cold,  walking  beside  his 
team  with  contented  thoughts.  This  drama 
every  day  in  the  streets  !  This  is  the  theatre  I 
go  to.  There  he  goes  with  his  venture  behind 
him,  and  often  he  gets  aboard  for  a  change. 


376  AUTUMN. 

Dec.  2,  1857.  I  find  that  according  to  the 
deed  of  Duncan  Ingraham  to  John  Richardson 
in  1797,  my  old  beanfield  at  Walden  Pond  then 
belonged  to  George  Minott.  (C.  Minott  thinks 
he  bought  it  of  an  Allen.)  This  was  Deacon 
George  Minott,  who  lived  in  the  house  next  below 
the  East  Quarter  schoolhouse,  and  was  a  brother 
of  my  grandfather-in-law.  He  was  directly  de 
scended  from  Thomas  Minott,  who,  according  to 
Shattuck,  was  secretary  of  the  abbot  of  Wal 
den  (!)  in  Essex,  and  whose  son  George  was 
born  at  Saffron  Walden  (!)  and  was  afterwards 
one  of  the  early  settlers  of  Dorchester. 

Dec.  3,  1853.  p.  M.  Up  river  by  boat  to 
Clamshell  Hill.  I  see  that  muskrats  have  not 
only  erected  cabins,  but  since  the  river  rose 
have  in  some  places  dug  galleries  a  rod  into  the 
bank,  pushing  the  sand  behind  them  into  the 
water.  So  they  dig  these  now  as  places  of  retreat 
merely,  or  for  the  same  purpose  as  the  cabins 
apparently.  One  I  explored  this  afternoon  was 
formed  in  a  low  shore  at  a  spot  where  there  were 
weeds  to  make  a  cabin  of,  and  was  apparently 
never  completed,  perhaps  because  the  shore  was 
too  low.  Some  of  the  clamshells,  probably 
opened  by  the  muskrats,  and  left  lying  on  their 
half-sunken  cabins  where  they  are  kept  wet  by 
the  waves,  show  very  handsome  rainbow  tints. 
...  It  is  a  somewhat  saddening  reflection  that 


AUTUMN.  377 

the  beautiful  colors  of  this  shell,  for  want  of 
light,  cannot  be  said  to  exist,  until  its  inhabitant 
has  fallen  a  prey  to  the  spoiler,  and  it  is  thus 
left  a  wreck  upon  the  strand.  Its  beauty  then 
beams  forth,  and  it  remains  a  splendid  cenotaph 
to  its  departed  tenant,  suggesting  what  glory  he 
has  gone  to.  Though  fitted  to  be,  it  is  not  a  gem 
"of  purest  ray  serene,"  so  long  as  it  remains 
in  "  the  dark,  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean,"  but 
only  when  it  is  tossed  up  to  light.  It  is  as  if 
the  occupant  had  not  begun  to  live,  until  the 
light,  with  whatever  violence,  is  let  into  its  shell 
with  these  magical  results.  These  shells  beam 
ing  with  the  tints  of  the  sky  and  the  rainbow 
commingled,  suggest  what  pure  serenity  has  oc 
cupied  them.  There  the  clam  dwells  within  a 
little  pearly  heaven  of  its  own. 

Look  at  the  trees,  bare  or  rustling  with  sere 
brown  leaves,  except  the  evergreens ;  the  buds 
dormant  at  the  foot  of  the  leaf -stalks  ;  look  at 
the  fields,  russet  and  withered,  and  the  various 
sedges  and  weeds  with  dry,  bleached  culms :  such 
is  our  relation  to  nature  at  present,  such  plants 
are  we.  We  have  no  more  sap,  nor  verdure, 
nor  color  now.  I  remember  how  cheerful  it  has 
been  formerly  to  sit  round  a  fire  outdoors  amid 
the  snow,  and  while  I  felt  some  cold,  to  feel 
some  warmth  also,  and  see  the  fire  gradually  in 
creasing  and  prevailing  over  damp  steaming  and 


378  AUTUMN. 

dripping  logs,  and  making  a  warm  hearth  for 
me.  Even  in  winter  we  maintain  a  temperate 
cheer,  a  serene  inward  life,  not  destitute  of 
warmth  and  melody. 

Dec.  3,  1840.  Music,  in  proportion  as  it  is 
pure,  is  distant.  The  strains  I  now  hear  seem 
at  an  inconceivable  distance,  yet  remotely  within 
me.  Remoteness  throws  all  sound  into  my  in 
most  being,  and  it  becomes  music,  as  the  slum 
brous  sounds  of  the  village,  or  the  tinkling  of 
the  forge  from  across  the  water  or  the  fields. 
To  the  senses,  that  is  farthest  from  me  which 
addresses  the  greatest  depth  within  me. 

Dec.  3,  1856.  Mizzles  and  rains  all  day, 
making  sloshy  walking,  which  sends  us  all  to 
the  shoemaker's.  Bought  me  a  pair  of  cowhide 
boots  to  be  prepared  for  winter  walks.  The 
shoemaker  praised  them,  because  they  were  made 
a  year  ago.  I  feel  like  an  armed  man  now. 
The  man  who  has  bought  his  boots  feels  like 
him  who  has  got  in  his  winter's  wood.  There 
they  stand  beside  me  in  the  chamber,  expec 
tant,  dreaming  of  far  woods  and  wood  paths, 
of  frost-bound  or  sloshy  roads,  or  of  being 
bound  with  skate-straps  and  clogged  with  ice- 
dust. 

For  years  my  appetite  was  so  strong  that  I 
browsed  on  the  pine  forest's  edge  seen  against 
the  winter  horizon.  How  cheap  my  diet  still ! 


AUTUMN.  379 

Dry  sand  that  has  fallen  in  the  railroad  cuts, 
and  slid  on  the  snow  beneath,  is  a  condiment  to 
my  walk.  I  ranged  about  like  a  gray  moose 
looking  at  the  spiring  tops  of  the  trees,  and  fed 
my  imagination  on  them,  —  far  away,  ideal  trees, 
not  disturbed  by  the  axe  of  the  wood -cutter. 
Where  was  the  sap,  the  fruit,  the  value  of  the 
forest  for  me  but  in  that  line  where  it  was 
relieved  against  the  sky !  That  was  my  wood- 
lot  ;  the  silvery  needles  of  the  pine  straining  the 
light. 

A  man  killed  at  the  fatal  Lincoln  Bridge  died 
in  the  village  the  other  night.  The  only  words 
he  uttered  while  he  lingered  in  his  delirium  were 
"  All  right,"  probably  the  last  he  uttered  when 
he  was  struck.  Brave,  prophetic  words  to  go 
out  of  the  world  with !  Good  as  "  I  still  live." 

How  I  love  the  simple,  reserved  countrymen, 
my  neighbors,  who  mind  their  own  business  and 
let  me  alone,  who  never  waylaid  nor  shot  at  me, 
to  my  knowledge,  when  I  crossed  their  fields, 
though  each  one  has  a  gun  in  his  house.  For 
nearly  twoscore  years,  I  have  known  at  a  dis 
tance  these  long-suffering  men,  whom  I  never 
spoke  to,  who  never  spoke  to  me,  and  now  I  feel 
a  certain  tenderness  for  them,  as  if  this  long 
probation  were  but  the  prelude  to  an  eternal 
friendship.  What  a  long  trial  we  have  with 
stood,  and  how  much  more  admirable  we  are  to 


380  AUTUMN. 

each  other,  perchance,  than  if  we  had  been  bed 
fellows.  I  am  not  only  grateful  because  Homer, 
and  Christ,  and  Shakespeare  have  lived,  but  I 
am  grateful  for  Minott,  and  Rice,  and  Melvin, 
and  Goodwin,  and  Puffer  even.  I  see  Melvin 
all  alone  filling  his  sphere  in  russet  suit,  which 
no  other  would  fill  or  suggest.  He  takes  up  as 
much  room  in  nature  as  the  most  famous. 

Six  weeks  ago  I  noticed  the  advent  of  chicka 
dees,  and  their  winter  habits.  As  you  walk 
along  a  woodside,  a  restless  little  flock  of  them, 
whose  notes  you  hear  at  a  distance,  will  seem  to 
say,  "  Oh,  there  he  goes,  let 's  pay  our  respects  to 
him  !  "  and  they  will  flit  after  and  close  to  you, 
and  naively  peck  at  the  nearest  twig  to  you,  as 
if  they  were  minding  their  own  business  all  the 
while,  without  any  reference  to  you. 

Dec.  3,  1857.  Surveying  the  Richardson  lot 
which  bounds  on  Walden  Pond,  I  turned  up  a 
rock  near  the  pond  to  make  a  bound  with,  and 
found  under  it  and  attached  to  it,  a  collection  of 
black  ants  (say  one  fourth  of  an  inch  long),  and 
an  inch  in  diameter,  collected  around  one  mon 
ster  black  ant,  as  big  as  four  or  five  at  least, 
and  a  small  parcel  of  yellowish  eggs  (?).  The 
large  ant  had  no  wings,  and  was  probably  the 
queen.  The  ants  were  quite  lively,  though  but 
little  way  under  the  rock.  The  eggs  (?)  ad 
hered  to  the  rock,  when  turned  up. 


AUTUMN.  381 

Dec.  3,  1858.  I  improve  every  opportunity 
to  go  into  a  grist-mill,  any  excuse  to  see  its 
cobweb  tapestry.  I  put  questions  to  the  miller, 
as  an  excuse  for  staying,  while  my  eye  rests 
delighted  on  the  cobwebs  above  his  head,  and 
perchance  on  his  hat. 

Dec.  3,  1859.  Suddenly  quite  cold,  and 
freezes  in  the  house.  Rode  with  a  man  this 
morning,  who  said  that  if  he  did  not  clean  his 
teeth  when  he  got  up,  it  made  him  sick  all  the 
rest  of  the  day,  but  he  had  found,  by  late  expe 
rience,  that  when  he  had  not  cleaned  his  teeth 
for  several  days,  they  cleaned  themselves.  I  as 
sured  him  that  such  was  the  general  rule,  that 
when,  from  any  cause,  we  were  prevented  from 
doing  what  we  had  commonly  thought  indispens 
able  for  us  to  do,  things  cleaned  or  took  care 
of  themselves. 

was  betrayed  by  his  eyes,  which  had  a 

glaring  film  over  them,  and  no  serene  depth  into 
which  you  could  look.  Inquired  particularly 
the  way  to  Emerson's,  and  the  distance,  and 
when  I  told  him,  said  he  knew  it  as  well  as  if 
he  saw  it.  Wished  to  turn  and  proceed  to  his 
house.  Said,  "  I  know  I  am  insane,"  and  I 
knew  it  too.  He  also  called  it  "  nervous  excite 
ment."  At  length  when  I  made  a  certain  re 
mark,  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  but  you  are 
Emerson ;  are  you  ?  you  look  somewhat  like 


382  AUTUMN. 

him."  He  said  as  much,  two  or  three  times, 
and  added  once,  "  but  then  Emerson  would  not 
lie."  Finally  put  his  questions  to  me,  of  Fate, 
etc.,  as  if  I  were  Emerson.  Getting  to  the 
woods,  I  remarked  upon  them,  and  he  men 
tioned  my  name,  but  never  to  the  end  suspected 
who  his  companion  was.  Then  proceeded  to 
business,  "  since  the  time  was  short,"  and  put  to 
me  the  questions  he  was  going  to  put  to  Emer 
son.  His  insanity  exhibited  itself  chiefly  by  his 
incessant  excited  talk,  scarcely  allowing  me  to 
interrupt  him,  but  once  or  twice  apologizing  for 
his  behavior.  What  he  said  was  for  the  most 
part  connected  and  sensible  enough. 

When   I  hear  of  John  Brown  and  his  wife 
weeping  at  length,  it  is  as  if  the  rocks  sweated. 

Dec.  3,  1860.      Talking  with and  - 

to-day,  they  declared  that  John  Brown  did 
wrong.  When  I  said  that  I  thought  he  was 
right,  they  agreed  in  asserting  that  he  did 
wrong  because  he  threw  his  life  away,  and  that 
no  man  had  a  right  to  undertake  anything  which 
he  knew  would  cost  him  his  life.  I  inquired  if 
Christ  did  not  foresee  that  he  would  be  crucified, 
if  he  preached  such  doctrines  as  he  did,  but  they 
both  (though  as  if  it  were  their  only  escape)  as 
serted  that  they  did  not  believe  he  did.  Upon 
which  a  third  party  threw  in,  "  You  do  not 
think  he  had  as  much  foresight  as  Brown."  Of 


AUTUMN.  383 

course,  they  as  good  as  said  that  if  Christ  had 
foreseen  that  he  would  be  crucified,  he  would 
have  "backed  out."  Such  are  the  principles 
and  the  logic  of  the  mass  of  men. 

It  is  to  be  remembered  that  by  good  deeds  or 
words  you  encourage  yourself,  who  always  have 
need  to  witness  or  hear  them. 

Dec.  4,  1840.  I  seem  to  have  experienced  a 
joy  sometimes  like  that  with  which  yonder  tree 
for  so  long  has  budded  and  blossomed,  and  re 
flected  the  green  rays.  The  opposite  shore  of 
the  pond,  seen  through  the  haze  of  a  September 
afternoon,  as  it  lies  stretched  out  in  gray  con 
tent,  answers  to  some  streak  in  me. 

Dec.  4,  1856.  I  notice  that  the  swallow- 
holes  in  the  bank  behind  Dennis's,  which  is 
partly  washed  away,  are  flat  -  elliptical,  three 
times  or  more  as  wide  horizontally  as  they  are 
deep  vertically,  or  about  three  inches  by  one. 

Saw  and  heard  cheep  faintly  one  little  tree 
sparrow,  the  neat,  chestnut-crowned  and  winged, 
and  white -barred  bird,  so  clean  and  tough, 
made  to  withstand  the  winter.  This  color  re 
minds  one  of  the  upper  side  of  the  shrub-oak 
leaf.  The  Frinyilla  hiemalis  also.  I  love  the 
few  homely  colors  of  Nature  at  this  season,  her 
strong,  wholesome  browns,  her  sober  and  pri 
meval  grays,  her  celestial  blue,  her  vivacious 
green,  her  pure  cold  snowy  white.  Thus  Nature 


384  AUTUMN. 

feeds  her  children  cheaply  with  color.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  it  is  an  important  relief  to  the 
eyes  which  have  long  rested  on  snow,  to  rest  on 
brown  oak  leaves  and  the  bark  of  trees.  We 
want  the  greatest  variety  within  the  smallest 
compass,  and  yet  without  glaring  diversity,  and 
we  have  it  in  the  colors  of  the  withered  oak 
leaves  ;  the  white,  so  curled,  shriveled,  and  pale ; 
the  black  (?),  more  flat  and  glossy,  and  darker 
brown ;  the  red,  much  like  the  black,  but,  per 
haps,  less  dark  and  less  deeply  cut.  The  scar 
let  still  occasionally  retains  some  blood  in  its 
veins. 

Smooth  white  reaches  of  ice,  as  long  as  the 
river  on  each  side,  are  threatening  to  bridge 
over  its  dark-blue  artery,  any  night.  They 
remind  me  of  a  trap  set  for  it,  which  the  frost 
will  spring.  Each  day,  at  present,  the  wrig 
gling  river  nibbles  off  the  edges  of  the  trap 
which  have  advanced  in  the  night.  It  is  a 
close  contest  between  day  and  night. 

Already  you  see  the  tracks  of  sleds  leading 
by  unusual  routes,  where  will  be  seen  no  trace 
of  them  in  summer,  into  far  fields  and  woods, 
crowding  aside  and  pressing  down  the  snow, 
to  where  some  heavy  log  or  stone  has  thought 
itself  secure,  and  the  spreading  tracks,  also,  of 
the  heavy,  slow-paced  oxen,  and  the  well-shod 
farmer  who  turns  out  his  feet.  Erelong,  when 


AUTUMN.  385 

the  cold  is  stronger,  these  tracks  will  lead  the 
walker  deep  into  remote  swamps  impassable  in 
summer.  All  the  earth  is  a  highway  then. 

Sophia  says  that  just  before  I  came  home, 
Min  caught  a  mouse,  and  was  playing  with  it 
in  the  yard.  It  had  got  away  from  her  once  or 
twice  and  she  had  caught  it  again,  and  now  it 
was  stealing  off  again,  as  she  was  complacently 
watching  it  with  her  paws  tucked  under  her, 
when  her  friend,  Riorden's  stout  cock,  stepped 
up  inquisitively,  looked  down  at  it  with  one  eye, 
turning  its  head,  then  picked  it  up  by  the  tail, 
gave  it  two  or  three  whacks  on  the  ground,  and 
giving  it  a  dexterous  toss  in  the  air,  caught  it 
in  its  open  mouth,  and  it  went,  head  foremost 
and  alive,  down  its  capacious  throat  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  never  again  to  be  seen  in 
this  world ;  Min  all  the  while,  with  paws  com 
fortably  tucked  under  her,  looking  on  uncon 
cerned.  What  matters  it  one  mouse,  more  or 
less,  to  her  ?  The  cock  walked  off  amid  the  cur 
rant-bushes,  stretched  his  neck  up  and  gulped 
once  or  twice,  and  the  deed  was  accomplished. 
Then  he  crowed  lustily  in  celebration  of  the  ex 
ploit.  It  might  be  set  down  among  the  Gesta 
yallorum.  There  were  several  human  witnesses. 
It  is  a  question  whether  Min  ever  understood 
where  that  mouse  went  to.  She  sits  composedly 
sentinel,  with  paws  tucked  under  her,  a  good 


386  AUTUMN. 

part  of  her  days  at  present,  by  some  ridiculous 
little  hole,  the  possible  entry  of  a  mouse. 

He  who  abstains  from  visiting  another  for 
magnanimous  reasons,  enjoys  better  society 
alone. 

My  first  botany,  as  I  remember,  was  "  Bige- 
low's  Plants  of  Boston  and  Vicinity,"  which  I 
began  to  use  about  twenty  years  ago,  looking 
chiefly  for  the  popular  names,  and  the  short  refer 
ences  to  the  localities  of  plants,  even  without  any 
regard  to  the  plant.  I  also  learned  the  names 
of  many,  but  without  using  any  system,  and 
forgot  them  soon.  I  was  not  inclined  to  pluck 
flowers,  but  preferred  to  leave  them  where  they 
were,  and  liked  them  best  there.  I  was  never 
in  the  least  interested  in  plants  in  the  house. 
But  from  time  to  time  we  look  at  nature  with 
new  eyes.  About  half  a  dozen  years  ago,  I 
found  myself  again  attending  to  plants  with 
more  method,  looking  out  the  name  of  each  one, 
and  remembering  it.  I  began  to  bring  them 
home  in  my  hat,  a  straw  one  with  a  scaffold 
lining  to  it,  which  I  called  my  botany  box.  I 
never  used  any  other,  and  when  some  whom  I 
visited  were  evidently  surprised  at  its  dilapi 
dated  look,  as  I  deposited  it  on  their  front  entry 
table,  I  assured  them  it  was  not  so  much  my 
hat,  as  my  botany  box.  I  remember  gazing 
with  interest  at  the  swamps  about  those  days, 


AUTUMN.  387 

and  wondering  if  I  could  ever  attain  to  such 
familiarity  with  plants  that  I  should  know 
the  species  of  every  twig  and  leaf  in  them, 
should  be  acquainted  with  every  plant  (except 
grasses  and  cryptogamous  ones),  summer  and 
winter,  that  I  saw.  Though  I  knew  most  of  the 
flowers,  and  there  were  not  in  any  particular 
swamp  more  than  half  a  dozen  shrubs  that  I 
did  not  know,  yet  these  made  it  seem  like  a 
maze  of  a  thousand  strange  species,  and  I  even 
thought  of  commencing  at  one  end,  and  look 
ing  it  faithfully  and  laboriously  through,  till  I 
knew  it  all.  I  little  thought  that  in  a  year  or 
two  I  should  have  attained  to  that  knowledge 
without  all  that  labor.  Still,  I  never  studied 
botany,  and  do  not  to-day,  systematically,  the 
most  natural  system  is  still  so  artificial.  I 
wanted  to  know  my  neighbors,  if  possible,  to  get 
a  little  nearer  to  them.  I  soon  found  myself 
observing  when  plants  first  blossomed  and 
leaved,  and  I  followed  it  up  early  and  late,  far 
and  near,  several  years  in  succession,  running 
to  different  sides  of  the  town  and  into  neighbor 
ing  towns,  often  between  twenty  and  thirty 
miles  in  a  day.  I  often  visited  a  particular 
plant  four  or  five  miles  distant  half  a  dozen 
times  within  a  fortnight,  that  I  might  know 
exactly  when  it  opened,  besides  attending  at  the 
same  time  to  a  great  many  others  in  different 


388  AUTUMN. 

directions,  and  some  of  them  equally  distant. 
At  the  same  time  I  had  an  eye  for  birds  and 
whatever  else  might  offer. 

Dec.  4,  1859.  Awake  to  winter,  and  snow 
two  or  three  inches  deep,  the  first  of  any  conse 
quence. 

Dec.  5,  1853.  P.  M.  Got  my  boat  in.  The 
river  frozen  over  thinly  in  most  places,  and 
whitened  with  snow  which  was  sprinkled  on  it 
this  noon. 

4  p.  M.  To  Cliffs.  Now  for  short  days  and 
early  twilight,  in  which  I  hear  the  sound  of 
wood-chopping.  The  sun  goes  down  behind  a 
low  cloud,  and  the  world  is  darkened.  The 
partridge  is  budding  on  the  apple-tree,  and 
bursts  away  from  the  pathside.  Before  I  got 
home,  the  whole  atmosphere  was  suddenly  filled 
with  a  mellow,  yellowish  light  equally  diffused, 
so  that  it  seemed  much  lighter  around  me  than 
immediately  after  the  sun  sank  behind  the  hori 
zon-cloud  fifteen  minutes  before.  Apparently 
not  till  the  sun  had  sunk  thus  far,  did  I  stand  in 
the  angle  of  reflection. 

Dec.  5,  1856.  P.  M.  As  I  walk  along  the 
side  of  the  hill,  a  pair  of  nuthatches  flit  by 
toward  a  walnut  tree,  flying  low  in  mid  course, 
and  then  ascending  to  the  tree.  I  hear  one's 
faint  tut-tut  or  quaJi-quah  (no  doubt  heard  a 
good  way  off  by  its  mate,  now  flown  to  the  next 


AUTUMN.  389 

tree),  as  it  is  ascending  the  trunk  or  branch  of 
a  walnut  in  a  zigzag  manner,  wriggling  along, 
prying  into  the  crevices  of  the  bark ;  and  now 
it  has  found  a  savory  morsel  which  it  pauses 
to  devour,  then  flits  to  a  new  bough.  It  is  a 
chubby  bird,  white,  slate-color,  and  black. 

It  is  a  perfectly  cloudless  and  simple  winter 
sky.  A  white  moon  half  full  in  the  pale  or  dull- 
blue  heaven,  and  a  whiteness  like  the  reflection 
of  the  snow  extending  up  from  the  horizon  all 
around,  a  quarter  of  the  way  up  to  the  zenith. 
I  can  imagine  that  I  see  it  shooting  up  like 
an  aurora  now  at  4  p.  M.  About  the  sun  it 
is  only  whiter  than  elsewhere,  or  there  is  only 
the  faintest  possible  tinge  of  yellow  there. 

My  themes  shall  not  be  far-fetched.  I  will 
tell  of  homely,  every-day  phenomena  and  adven 
tures.  Friends,  society !  It  seems  to  me  that 
I  have  an  abundance,  there  is  so  much  that  I  re 
joice  in  and  sympathize  with,  and  men,  too,  that 
I  never  speak  to,  but  only  know  and  think  of. 
What  you  call  bareness  and  poverty  is  to  me 
simplicity.  God  could  not  be  unkind  to  me,  if 
he  should  try.  I  love  the  winter  with  its  im 
prisonment  and  its  cold,  for  it  compels  the  pris 
oner  to  try  new  fields  and  resources.  I  love  to 
have  the  river  closed  up  for  a  season,  and  a  pause 
put  to  my  boating,  to  be  obliged  to  get  my  boat 
in.  I  shall  launch  it  again  in  the  spring  with 


390  AUTUMN. 

so  much  more  pleasure.  This  is  an  advantage 
in  point  of  abstinence  and  moderation  compared 
with  the  seaside  boating,  where  the  boat  ever  lies 
on  the  shore.  I  love  best  to  have  each  thing  in 
its  season  only,  and  enjoy  doing  without  it  at  all 
other  times.  It  is  the  greatest  of  all  advantages 
to  enjoy  no  advantage  at  all.  I  find  it  invari 
ably  true,  the  poorer  I  am,  the  richer  I  am. 
What  you  consider  my  disadvantage,  I  consider 
my  advantage  ;  while  you  are  pleased  to  get 
knowledge  and  culture,  I  am  delighted  to  think 
I  am  getting  rid  of  them.  I  have  never  got  over 
my  surprise  that  I  should  have  been  born  into 
the  most  estimable  place  in  all  the  world,  and  in 
the  very  nick  of  time,  too. 

Dec.  5,  1858.  How  singularly  ornamented  is 
that  salamander.  Its  brightest  side,  its  yellow 
belly,  sprinkled  with  fine  dark  spots,  is  turned 
downwards.  Its  back  is  indeed  ornamented 
with  two  rows  of  bright  vermilion  spots,  but 
they  can  only  be  detected  on  the  very  closest 
inspection,  and  poor  eyes  fail  to  discover  them 
even  then,  as  I  have  found. 

Dec.  6,  1854.  To  Providence  to  lecture. 
After  lecturing  twice  this  winter,  I  feel  that  I 
am  in  danger  of  cheapening  myself  by  trying  to 
become  a  successful  lecturer,  that  is,  to  interest 
my  audiences.  I  am  disappointed  to  find  that 
most  that  I  am,  and  value  myself  for,  is  lost,  or 


AUTUMN.  391 

worse  than  lost,  on  my  audience.  I  fail  to  get 
even  the  attention  of  the  mass.  I  should  suit 
them  better  if  I  suited  myself  less.  You  cannot 
interest  them  except  as  you  are  like  them,  and 
sympathize  with  them.  I  would  rather  that  my 
audience  should  come  to  me,  than  I  go  to  them  ; 
that  so  they  should  be  sifted ;  that  is,  I  would 
rather  write  books  than  lectures.  To  read  to  a 
promiscuous  audience,  who  are  at  your  mercy, 
the  fine  thoughts  you  solaced  yourself  with,  far 
away,  is  as  violent  as  to  fatten  geese  by  cram 
ming,  and  in  this  case  they  do  not  get  fatter. 

Dec.  6, 1856.  2  p.  M.  To  Hubbard's  Bridge 
and  Holden  Swamp,  and  up  river  on  ice  to  Fair 
Haven  pond  crossing,  just  below  pond  ;  back  on 
east  side  of  river.  Skating  is  fairly  begun.  I 
can  walk  through  the  spruce  swamp  now  dry- 
shod  amid  the  water  andromeda  and  Kalmia 
glauca.  How  handsome  every  one  of  these 
leaves  that  are  blown  about  over  the  snow  crust, 
or  lie  neglected  beneath,  soon  to  turn  to  mould  ! 
Not  merely  a  matted  mass  of  fibres  like  a  sheet 
of  paper,  but  a  perfect  organism  and  system  in 
itself,  so  that  no  mortal  has  ever  yet  discerned 
or  explored  its  beauty.  Over  against  this  swamp, 
I  take  to  the  river-side  where  the  ice  will  bear. 
White  snow-ice  it  is,  but  pretty  smooth.  It  is 
quite  glare  close  to  the  shore,  and  wherever  the 
water  overflowed  yesterday.  Just  this  side  of 


392  AUTUMN. 

Bittern  Cliff,  I  see  the  very  remarkable  track  of 
an  otter,  made  undoubtedly  December  3d,  when 
the  snow-ice  was  mere  slush.  It  had  come  up 
through  a  hole  (now  black  ice)  by  the  stem  of 
a  button-bush,  and  apparently  pushed  its  way 
through  the  slush,  as  through  snow  011  land, 
leaving  a  track  eight  inches  wide,  more  or  less, 
with  the  now  frozen  snow  shoved  up  two  inches 
above  the  general  level  on  each  side.  Where 
the  ice  was  firmer  were  seen  only  the  track  of 
its  feet.  At  Bittern  Cliff  I  saw  where  these 
creatures  had  been  playing,  sliding  or  fishing, 
apparently  to-day,  on  the  snow-covered  rocks,  on 
which  for  a  rod  upwards  and  as  much  in  width, 
the  snow  was  trodden  and  worn  quite  smooth,  as 
if  twenty  had  trodden  and  slid  there  for  several 
hours.  Their  droppings  are  a  mass  of  fishes' 
scales  and  bones,  loose,  scaly,  black  masses.  At 
this  point,  the  black  ice  approached  within  three 
or  four  feet  of  the  rock,  and  there  was  an  open 
space  just  there  a  foot  or  two  across,  which 
appeared  to  have  been  kept  open  by  them.  I 
continued  along  on  that  side,  and  crossed  on 
white  ice  just  below  the  pond.  The  river  was 
all  tracked  up  with  otters  from  Bittern  Cliff 
upward.  Sometimes  one  had  trailed  his  tail 
edgewise,  making  a  mark  like  the  tail  of  a  deer- 
mouse  ;  sometimes  they  were  moving  fast,  and 
there  was  an  interval  of  five  feet  between  the 


AUTUMN.  393 

tracks.  I  saw  one  place  where  there  was  a  zig 
zag  piece  of  black  ice  two  rods  long  and  a  foot 
wide  in  the  midst  of  the  white,  which  I  was  sur 
prised  to  find  had  been  made  by  an  otter  push 
ing  his  way  through  the  slush.  He  had  left 
fishes'  scales,  etc.,  at  the  end.  These  very  con 
spicuous  tracks  generally  commenced  and  termi 
nated  at  some  button-bush  or  willow  where  black 
ice  now  marked  the  hole  of  that  date.  It  is  sur 
prising  that  our  hunters  know  no  more  about 
them.  When  I  speak  of  the  otter  to  our  oldest 
village  doctor,  who  should  be  ex  officio  a  natu 
ralist,  he  is  greatly  surprised,  not  knowing  that 
such  an  animal  is  found  in  these  parts,  and  I 
have  to  remind  him  that  the  Pilgrims  sent  home 
many  otter  skins  in  the  first  vessels  that  re 
turned,  together  with  beaver,  mink,  and  black- 
fox  skins,  1,156  pounds  of  other  skins  in  the 
years  1631-36,  which  brought  fourteen  or  fifteen 
shillings  a  pound,  also  12,530  pounds  of  beaver 
skins.1  In  many  places  the  otters  appeared  to 
have  gone  floundering  along  in  the  slushy  ice 
and  water. 

On  all  sides  in  swamps  and  about  their  edges, 
and  in  the  woods,  the  bare  shrubs  are  sprinkled 
with  buds  more  or  less  noticeable  and  pretty, 
their  little  gemma3  or  gems  their  most  vital  and 
attractive  parts  now,  almost  all  the  greenness 

1  Vide  Bradford's  History. 


394  AUTUMN. 

and  color  left,  greens  and  salads  for  the  birds 
and  rabbits.  Our  eyes  go  searching  along  the 
stem  for  what  is  most  vivacious  and  characteris 
tic,  the  concentrated  summer  gone  into  winter 
quarters.  For  we  are  hunters  pursuing  the 
summer  on  snow-shoes  and  skates  all  winter 
long,  and  there  is  really  but  one  season  in  our 
hearts. 

Dec.  7,  1838.  Never  do  we  live  a  quite  free 
life,  like  Adam's,  but  are  enveloped  in  an  invisi 
ble  network  of  speculations.  Our  progress  is 
from  one  such  speculation  to  another,  and  only 
at  rare  intervals  do  we  perceive  that  it  is  no 
progress.  Could  we  for  a  moment  drop  this  by 
play,  and  simply  wonder  without  reference  or 
inference ! 

Dec.  7,  1852.  P.  M.  Perhaps  the  warmest 
day  yet.  True  Indian  summer.  The  walker 
perspires.  The  shepherd's  -  purse  is  in  full 
bloom  ;  the  andromeda  not  turned  red.  Saw  a 
pile  of  snow-fleas  in  a  rut  in  the  wood-path,  six 
or  seven  inches  long,  and  three  quarters  of  an 
inch  high ;  to  the  eye  exactly  like  powder,  as  if 
a  sportsman  had  spilled  it  from  his  flask,  and 
when  a  stick  was  passed  through  the  living  and 
skipping  mass,  each  side  of  the  furrow  preserved 
its  edge,  as  in  powder. 

Dec.  7,  1856.  Skate  to  Fair  Haven  pond. 
This  is  the  first  skating.  It  takes  my  feet  a 


AUTUMN.  395 

few  moments  to  get  used  to  the  skates.  I  see 
the  track  of  one  skater  who  has  preceded  me 
this  morning.  Now  I  go  skating  over  hobbly 
places,  now  shoot  over  a  bridge  of  ice  only  a 
foot  wide  between  the  water  and  the  shore  at  a 
bend.  Now  I  suddenly  see  the  trembling  sur 
face  of  water  where  I  thought  were  black  spots 
of  ice  only,  around  me.  The  river  is  rather 
low,  so  that  I  cannot  keep  to  it  above  the  Clam 
shell  bend.  I  am  confined  to  a  very  narrow 
edging  of  ice  on  the  meadow,  gliding  with  unex 
pected  ease  through  withered  sedge,  but  slipping 
sometimes  on  a  twig,  again  taking  the  snow  to 
reach  the  next  ice,  but  this  rests  my  feet ;  strad 
dling  the  bare  black  willows,  winding  between 
the  button-bushes,  and  following  narrow  thread- 
ings  of  ice  amid  the  sedge,  which  bring  me  out 
to  clear  fields  unexpectedly.  Occasionally  I  am 
obliged  to  take  a  few  strokes  over  black  and 
thin-looking  ice  where  the  neighboring  bank  is 
springy,  and  am  slow  to  acquire  confidence  in  it, 
but  returning,  how  bold  I  am  !  Now  I  glide 
over  a  field  of  white  air-cells  close  to  the  sur 
face,  with  covering  no  thicker  than  egg-shells, 
cutting  through  with  a  sharp  crackling  sound. 
There  are  many  of  those  singular  spider-shaped 
dark  places  amid  the  white  ice,  where  the  surface- 
water  has  run  through  some  days  ago.  That 
grand  old  poem  called  Winter  is  round  again 


396  AUTUMN. 

without  any  connivance  of  mine.  As  I  sit  under 
Lee's  Cliff,  where  the  snow  is  melted,  amid  sere 
pennyroyal  and  frostbitten  catnip,  I  look  over 
my  shoulder  upon  an  arctic  scene,  and  see  with 
surprise  the  pond,  a  dumb  white  surface  of  ice 
speckled  with  snow,  just  as  so  many  winters 
before,  where  so  lately  were  lapsing  waves  or 
smooth,  reflecting  water.  I  see  the  holes  which 
the  pickerel  fisher  has  made,  and  I  see  him,  too, 
retreating  over  the  hills  drawing  his  sled  behind 
him.  The  water  is  already  skimmed  over  again, 
and  I  hear  the  familiar  belching  voice  of  the 
pond.  It  seemed  as  if  winter  had  come  without 
any  interval  since  midsummer,  and  I  was  pre 
pared  to  see  it  flit  away  by  the  time  I  again 
looked  over  my  shoulder.  It  was  as  if  I  had 
dreamed  it.  The  winters  come  now  as  fast  as 
snowflakes.  It  is  wonderful  that  old  men  do  not 
lose  their  reckoning.  It  was  summer,  and  now 
again  it  is  winter.  Nature  loves  this  rhyme  so 
well  that  she  never  tires  of  repeating  it.  So 
sweet  and  wholesome  is  the  winter,  so  simple  and 
moderate,  so  satisfactory  and  perfect,  that  her 
children  will  never  weary  of  it.  What  a  poem, 
an  epic  in  blank  verse,  enriched  with  a  million 
tinkling  rhymes !  It  is  solid  beauty.  It  has 
been  subjected  to  the  vicissitudes  of  millions  of 
years  of  the  gods,  and  not  a  superfluous  orna 
ment  remains.  The  severest  and  coldest  of  the 


AUTUMN.  397 

immortal  critics  have  shot  their  arrows  at  it, 
and  pruned  it,  till  it  cannot  be  amended. 

You  will  see  full-grown  woods  where  the  oaks 
and  pines  and  birches  are  separated  by  right 
lines,  growing  in  squares  or  other  rectilinear  fig 
ures,  because  different  lots  were  cut  at  different 
times. 

Dec.  7,  1857.  Running  the  long  northwest 
side  of  Richardson's  Fair  Haven  lot.  It  is  a 
fine,  sunny,  and  warm  day  in  t/ie  woods  for  the 
season.  We  eat  our  dinner  in  the  middle  of  the 
line,  amid  the  young  oaks  in  a  sheltered  and  un 
frequented  place.  I  cut  some  leafy  shrub  oaks, 
and  cast  them  down  for  a  dry  and  springy  seat. 
As  I  sit  there  amid  the  sweet  fern,  talking  with 
my  man,  Briney,  I  observe  that  its  recent 
shoots  (which  like  many  larger  bushes  and  trees 
have  a  few  leaves  in  a  tuft  still  at  the  extremi 
ties)  toward  the  sun  are  densely  covered  with  a 
slight  silvery  down  which  looks  like  frost,  so 
thick  and  white.  Looking  the  other  way,  I  see 
none  of  it,  but  the  bare  reddish  twigs.  Even 
this  is  a  cheering  and  compensating  discovery  in 
my  otherwise  barren  work.  I  get  thus  a  few 
positive  values  answering  to  the  bread  and 
cheese  which  makes  my  dinner.  I  owe  thus  to 
my  week's  surveying  a  few  such  slight,  but  posi 
tive  discoveries. 

Dec.  8,  1838.     Nothing  in  Nature  is  sneak- 


398  AUTUMN. 

ing  or  chap-fallen,  as  somewhat  maltreated  or 
slighted,  but  each  is  satisfied  with  its  being,  and 
so  is  as  lavender  and  balm.  If  skunk-cabbage 
is  offensive  to  the  nostrils  of  men,  still  has  it 
not  drooped  in  consequence,  but  trustfully  un 
folded  its  leaf  of  two  handsbreadth.  What  was 
it  to  Lord  Byron  whether  England  owned  or 
disowned  him,  whether  he  smelled  sour  and  was 
skunk-cabbage  to  the  English  nostril,  or,  vio 
let-like,  the  pride  of  the  land  and  ornament  of 
every  lady's  boudoir.  Let  not  the  oyster  grieve 
that  he  has  lost  the  race  ;  he  has  gained  as  an 
oyster. 

Dec.  8,  1850.  It  snowed  in  the  night  of  the 
6th,  and  the  ground  is  now  covered  ;  our  first 
snow,  two  inches  deep.  I  see  no  tracks  now  of 
cows  or  men  or  boys  beyond  the  edge  of  the 
wood.  Suddenly  they  are  shut  up.  The  re 
mote  pastures  and  hills  beyond  the  woods  are 
closed  to  cows  and  cowherds,  aye,  and  to  cow 
ards.  I  am  struck  by  this  sudden  solitude  and 
remoteness  which  these  places  have  acquired. 
The  dear  privacy  and  retirement  and  solitude 
which  winter  makes  possible,  carpeting  the 
earth  with  snow,  furnishing  more  than  woolen 
feet  to  all  walkers  !  From  Fair  Haven  I  see  the 
hills  and  fields,  aye  and  the  icy  woods  in  the 
Corner,  gleam  with  the  dear  old  wintry  sheen. 
Those  are  not  surely  the  cottages  I  have  seen  all 


AUTUMN.  399 

summer.  They  are  some  cottages  which  I  have 
in  my  mind. 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  the  manner  in 
which  the  plants  bear  their  snowy  burden.  The 
dry  calyx-leaves,  like  an  oblong  cup,  of  the 
Trichostema  dichotomum  in  the  woodpath,  have 
caught  the  rain  or  melting  snow,  and  so  this 
little  butter-boat  is  filled  with  a  frozen  pure 
drop  which  stands  up  high  above  the  sides  of 
the  cup,  so  many  pearly  drops  covering  the 
whole  plant.  The  pennyroyal  there  also  retains 
its  fragrance  under  the  ice  and  snow. 

Dec.  8,  1852.  One  cannot  burn  or  bury  even 
his  old  shoes  without  a  feeling  of  sadness  and 
compassion,  much  more  his  own  body,  without  a 
slight  sense  of  guilt. 

Dec.  8,  1853.  7  A.  M.  How  can  we  spare  to 
be  abroad  in  the  morning  red,  to  see  the  forms 
of  the  eastern  trees  against  the  dun  sky,  and  hear 
the  cocks  crow,  when  a  thin  low  mist  hangs  over 
the  ice  and  frost  in  meadows.  I  have  come 
along  the  river-side  in  Merrick's  pasture  to  col 
lect  for  kindling  the  fat  pine  roots  and  knots 
which  the  spearers  dropped  last  spring,  and 
which  the  floods  have  washed  up.  Get  a  heap 
ing  bushel-basket  full. 

Dec.  8,  1854.  p.  M.  Up  river  and  meadow 
on  ice  to  Hubbard's  Bridge,  and  thence  to  Wai- 
den.  Winter  has  come  unnoticed  by  me,  I 


400  AUTUMN. 

have  been  so  busy  writing.  This  is  the  life 
most  lead  in  respect  of  nature.  How  different 
from  my  habitual  one  !  It  is  hasty,  coarse,  and 
trivial,  as  if  you  were  a  spindle  in  a  factory. 
The  other  is  leisurely,  fine,  and  glorious,  like  a 
flower.  In  the  first  case,  you  are  merely  getting 
your  living.  In  the  second,  you  live  as  you  go 
along.  You  travel  only  on  roads  of  the  proper 
grade,  without  jar  or  running  off  the  track,  and 
sweep  around  the  hills  by  beautiful  curves. 

Here  is  the  river  frozen  over  in  many  places. 
The  skating  is  all  hobbled  like  a  coat  of  mail  or 
thickly  bossed  shield,  apparently  sleet  frozen  in 
water.  How  black  the  water  where  the  river 
is  open,  when  I  look  from  the  light,  by  contrast 
with  the  surrounding  white,  the  ice  and  snow ! 
a  black  artery,  here  and  there  concealed  under 
a  pellicle  of  ice.  Went  over  the  fields  on  the 
crust,  to  Walden,  over  side  of  Bear  Garden. 
Already  foxes  have  left  their  tracks.  How  the 
crust  shines  afar,  the  sun  now  setting.  There 
is  a  glorious  clear  sunset  sky,  soft  and  delicate 
and  warm,  even  like  a  pigeon's  neck.  Why  do 
the  mountains  never  look  so  fair  as  from  my 
native  fields  ? 

Dec.  8,  1855.  This  afternoon  I  go  to  the 
woods  down  the  railroad,  seeking  the  society  of 
some  flock  of  little  birds,  or  some  squirrel,  but 
in  vain.  I  only  hear  the  faint  lisp  of  probably  a 


A  UTUMN.  401 

tree  sparrow.  I  go  through  empty  halls,  appar 
ently  unoccupied  by  bird  or  beast.  Yet  it  is 
cheering  to  walk  there,  while  the  sun  is  reflected 
from  far  through  the  aisles  with  a  silvery  light 
from  the  needles  of  the  pine.  The  contrast  of 
light  or  sunshine  and  shade,  though  the  latter 
is  now  so  thin,  is  food  enough  for  me.  In  a 
little  busy  flock  of  lisping  birds,  chickadees  or 
lesser  red-polls,  even  in  a  nuthatch  or  downy 
woodpecker,  there  would  have  been  a  sweet 
society  for  me.  But  I  did  not  find  it.  Yet  I 
had  the  sun  penetrating  into  the  deep  hollows 
through  the  aisles  of  the  wood,  and  the  silvery 
sheen  of  its  reflection  from  masses  of  white  pine 
needles. 

Jacob  Farmer  brought  me  the  head  of  a  mink 
to-night,  and  took  tea  here.  He  says  he  can 
call  a  male  quail  close  to  him  by  imitating 
the  note  of  the  female,  which  is  only  a  faint 
whistle. 

Dec.  8,  1856.  8°  above  zero.  Probably  the 
coldest  day  yet. 

Bradford,  in  his  history  of  the  Plymouth  Plan 
tation,  remembering  the  condition  of  the  Pil 
grims  on  their  arrival  in  Cape  Cod  Bay  the  llth 
of  November,  1620,  O.  S.,  says  (p.  79),  "  Which 
way  so  ever  they  turned  their  eyes  (save  up 
ward  to  the  heavens)  they  could  have  little  sol 
ace  or  content  in  respect  of  any  outward  objects, 


402  AUTUMN. 

for,  summer  being  done,  all  things  stared  upon 
them  with  a  weather  beaten  face,  and  the  whole 
country,  full  of  woods  and  thickets,  represented 
a  wild  and  savage  hue."  Such  was  a  New  Eng 
land  November,  in  1620,  to  Bradford's  eyes,  and 
such  no  doubt  it  would  be  to  his  eyes  in  the 
country  still.  It  required  no  little  courage  to 
found  a  colony  here  at  that  season  of  the  year. 
The  earliest  mention  of  anything  like  a  glaze  in 
New  England  that  I  remember  is  in  the  same 
History,  p.  83,  where  Bradford  describes  the 
second  expedition  from  Cape  Cod  Harbor  in 
search  of  a  settlement,  the  6th  of  December, 
O.  S. :  "  The  weather  was  very  cold,  and  it  froze 
so  hard  as  the  spray  of  the  sea  lighting  on  their 
coats,  they  were  as  if  they  had  been  glazed." 
Bradford  was  one  of  the  ten  principal  persons. 
That  same  night  they  reached  the  bottom  of  the 
Bay,  and  saw  the  Indians  cutting  up  a  black- 
fish.  Nature  has  not  changed  one  iota. 

Dec.  8,  1857.  S says  he  came  to  Con 
cord  twenty-four  years  ago,  a  poor  boy,  with  a 
dollar  and  three  cents  in  his  pocket,  and  he 
spent  the  three  cents  for  drink  at  Bigelow's 
tavern,  and  now  he  is  worth  "  twenty  hundred 
dollars  clear."  He  remembers  many  who  in 
herited  wealth  whom  he  could  buy  out  to-day. 
I  told  him  that  he  had  done  better  than  I,  in  a 
pecuniary  respect,  for  I  had  only  earned  my 


AUTUMN.  403 


living.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "that 's  all  I  Ve  done, 
and  I  don't  know  as  I  Ve  got  much  better 
clothes  than  you."  I  was  particularly  poorly 
clad  then,  in  the  woods  ;  my  hat,  pants,  boots, 
rubbers,  and  gloves  would  not  have  brought 
fourpence,  and  I  told  the  Irishman  that  it 
was  n't  everybody  could  afford  to  have  a  fringe 
round  his  legs,  as  I  had,  my  corduroys  not  pre 
serving  a  selvage. 

Dec.  8,  1859.  How  is  it  that  what  is  actually 
present  and  transpiring  is  commonly  perceived 
by  the  common  sense  and  understanding  only,  is 
bare  and  bald,  without  halo,  or  the  blue  enamel 
of  intervening  air  ?  But  let  it  be  past  or  to  come, 
and  it  is  at  once  idealized.  The  man  dead  is 
spiritualized,  the  fact  remembered  is  idealized. 
It  is  ripe  and  with  the  bloom  on  it.  It  is  not 
simply  the  understanding  now,  but  the  imagina 
tion  that  takes  cognizance  of  it.  The  imagina 
tion  requires  a  long  range.  It  is  the  faculty  of 
the  poet  to  see  present  things  as  if  in  this  sense 
past  and  future,  as  if  distant  or  universally  sig 
nificant.  We  do  not  know  poets,  heroes,  and 
saints  for  our  contemporaries,  but  we  locate 
them  in  some  far  off  vale ;  the  greater  and 
better,  the  farther  off  we  are  accustomed  to  con 
sider  them.  We  believe  in  spirits,  we  believe  in 
beauty,  but  not  now  and  here.  They  have  their 
abode  in  the  remote  past,  or  in  the  future. 


404  AUTUMN. 

Dec.  9,  1852.  P.  M.  To  A.  Smith's  hill. 
Those  little  ruby-crowned  lesser  red -polls  still 
about.  They  suddenly  flash  away  from  this  side 
to  that,  in  flocks,  with  a  tumultuous  note,  half 
gurgle,  half  rattle,  like  nuts  shaken  in  a  bag, 
or  a  bushel  of  nutshells,  soon  returning  to  the 
tree  they  had  forsaken  on  some  alarm.  They 
are  oftenest  seen  on  the  white  birch,  apparently 
feeding  on  its  seeds,  scattering  the  scales  about. 

A  fresh  dandelion.  The  chestnuts  are  about 
as  plenty  as  ever,  both  in  the  faUen  burrs  and 
out  of  them.  There  are  more  this  year  than 
the  squirrels  can  consume.  I  picked  three  pints 
this  afternoon,  and  did  not  find  one  mouldy  one 
among  those  which  I  picked  from  under  the  wet 
and  mouldy  leaves.  They  are  plump  and  tender. 
I  love  to  gather  them,  if  only  for  the  sense  of  the 
bountifulness  of  nature  they  give  me.  A  few 
petals  of  the  witch  hazel  still  hold  on.  A  man 
tells  me  he  saw  a  violet  to-day. 

In  the  "  Homes  of  American  Authors,"  it  is 
said  of  most  that  at  one  time  they  wrote  for  the 
"North  American  Review."  It  is  one  of  my 
qualifications  that  I  have  not  written  an  article 
for  the  "  North  American  Review." 

Dec.  9,  1856.  p.  M.  Railroad  to  Lincoln 
bridge  and  back  by  road.  From  a  little  east  of 
Wyman's  I  look  over  the  pond  westward.  The 
sun  is  near  setting,  away  beyond  Fair  Haven. 


AUTUMN.  405 

A  bewitching  stillness  reigns  through  all  the 
woodland,  and  over  all  the  snow-clad  landscape. 
Indeed,  the  winter  day  in  the  woods  or  fields  has 
commonly  the  stillness  of  twilight.  The  pond 
is  perfectly  smooth  and  full  of  light.  I  hear 
only  the  strokes  of  a  lingering  woodchopper  at 
a  distance  and  the  melodious  hooting  of  an  owl, 
which  is  as  common  and  marked  a  sound  as  that 
of  the  axe  or  the  locomotive  whistle ;  yet  where 
does  the  ubiquitous  hooter  sit?  and  who  sees 
him?  In  whose  wood-lot  is  he  to  be  found? 
Few  eyes  have  rested  on  him  hooting,  few  on 
him  silent  on  his  perch  even,  yet  cut  away  the 
woods  never  so  much  year  after  year,  though  the 
chopper  has  not  seen  him,  and  only  a  grove  or 
two  is  left,  still  his  aboriginal  voice  is  heard  in 
definitely  far  and  sweet,  mingled  oft  in  strange 
harmony  with  the  newly  invented  din  of  trade, 
hooting  from  his  invisible  perch  at  his  foes,  the 
woodchoppers  who  are  invading  his  domains. 
As  the  earth  only  a  few  inches  beneath  the  sur 
face  is  undisturbed  and  what  it  was  anciently, 
so  are  heard  still  some  primeval  sounds  in  the 
air.  Some  of  my  townsmen  I  never  see,  and  of 
a  great  proportion  I  do  not  hear  the  voices  in  a 
year,  though  they  live  within  my  horizon ;  but 
every  week  almost,  I  hear  the  loud  voice  of  the 
hooting  owl,  though  I  do  not  see  the  bird  more 
than  once  in  ten  years. 


406  AUTUMN. 

I  perceive  that  more  or  other  things  are  seen 
in  the  reflection  than  in  the  substance.  As  I 
look  over  the  pond  westward,  I  see  in  substance 
the  now  bare  outline  of  Fair  Haven  Hill,  a  mile 
beyond ;  whereas  in  the  reflection  I  see  not  this, 
only  the  tops  of  some  pines  which  stand  close 
to  the  shore,  but  are  invisible  against  the  dark 
hill  beyond,  and  these  are  indefinitely  prolonged 
into  points  of  shadow. 

The  sun  is  set,  and  over  the  valley  which 
looks  like  an  outlet  of  Walden  toward  Fair 
Haven,  I  see  a  burnished  bar  of  cloud  stretched 
low  and  level,  as  if  it  were  the  bar  over  that 
passage-way  to  Elysium,  the  last  column  in  the 
train  of  the  sun.  When  I  get  as  far  as  my  bean- 
field,  the  reflected  white  in  the  winter  horizon 
of  the  perfectly  cloudless  sky  is  being  condensed 
at  the  horizon's  edge,  and  its  hue  deepening  into 
a  dun  golden,  against  which  the  tops  of  the  trees, 
pines  and  elms,  are  seen  with  a  beautiful  dis 
tinctness,  and  a  slight  blush  begins  to  suffuse 
the  eastern  horizon,  and  so  the  picture  of  the 
day  is  done,  and  set  in  a  gilded  frame.  Such  is 
a  winter  eve.  Now  for  a  merry  fire,  some  old 
poet's  pages,  or  else  serene  philosophy,  or  even 
a  healthy  book  of  travels,  to  last  far  into  the 
night,  eked  out  perhaps  with  the  walnuts  which 
we  gathered  in  November. 

The  worker  who  would  accomplish  much  these 


AUTUMN.  407 

short  days,  must  shear  a  dusky  slice  off  both 
ends  of  the  night.  The  chopper  must  work  as 
long  as  he  can  see,  often  returning  home  by 
moonlight,  and  set  out  for  the  woods  again  by 
candle-light. 

The  northwest  wind  meeting  the  current  in  an 
exposed  place  produces  that  hobbly  ice  which  I 
described  at  Cardinal  Shore  day  before  yester 
day.  Such  is  the  case  in  this  place  every  year, 
and  no  doubt  the  same  phenomenon  occurred 
annually  at  this  point  in  the  river,  a  thousand 
years  before  America  was  discovered.  This  reg 
ularity  and  permanence  make  these  phenomena 
more  interesting  to  me. 

Dec.  9,  1858.  At  New  Bedford.  See  a  song 
sparrow  and  a  pigeon  woodpecker.  Dr.  Bryant 
tells  of  the  latter  pecking  holes  in  blinds,  and 
also  in  his  barn  roof  and  sides  in  order  to  get 
into  it,  holes  in  the  window  sashes  or  casings,  as 
if  a  nail  had  been  driven  into  them. 

Dec.  10,  1837.  Not  the  carpenter  alone  car 
ries  his  rule  in  his  pocket.  Space  is  quite  sub 
dued  to  us.  The  meanest  peasant  finds  in  a  hair 
of  his  head,  or  the  white  crescent  upon  his  nail, 
the  unit  of  measure  for  the  distance  of  the  fixed 
stars.  His  middle  finger  measures  how  many 
digits  into  space.  He  extends  a  few  times  his 
thumb  and  finger,  and  the  continent  is  spanned. 
He  stretches  out  his  arms,  and  the  sea  is  fath 
omed. 


408  AUTUMN. 

Dec.  10,  1840.  I  discover  a  strange  track  in 
the  snow,  and  learn  that  some  migrating  otter 
has  made  across  from  the  river  to  the  wood,  by 
my  yard  and  the  smith's  shop,  in  the  silence  of 
the  night.  I  cannot  but  smile  at  my  own  wealth 
when  I  am  thus  reminded  that  every  chink  and 
cranny  of  nature  is  full  to  overflowing.  Such 
an  incident  as  this  startles  me  with  the  assur 
ance  that  the  primeval  nature  is  still  working, 
and  makes  tracks  in  the  snow.  It  is  my  own 
fault  that  he  must  thus  skulk  across  my  prem 
ises  by  night.  Now  I  yearn  toward  him,  and 
heaven  to  me  consists  in  a  complete  commu 
nion  with  the  otter  nature.  He  travels  a  more 
wooded  path  by  watercourses  and  hedgerows,  I 
by  the  highways,  but  though  his  tracks  are  now 
crosswise  to  mine,  our  courses  are  not  divergent, 
but  we  shall  meet  at  last. 

Mere  innocence  will  tame  any  ferocity. 

Dec.  10,  1853.  Another  still  more  glorious 
day,  if  possible.  Indian  summer,  even.  These 
are  among  the  finest  days  in  the  year,  on  account 
of  the  wholesome  bracing  coolness  and  clearness. 
Paddled  up  Assabet.  Passed  in  some  places  be 
tween  shooting  ice  crystals  extending  from  both 
sides  of  the  stream.  Upon  the  thinnest  black 
ice  crystals,  just  cemented,  was  the  appearance 
of  broad  fern  leaves  or  ostrich  plumes,  or  flat 
fir-trees  with  branches  bent  down.  The  surface 


AUTUMN.  409 

was  far  from  even,  rather  in  sharp-edged  plaits 
and  folds.  The  form  of  the  crystals  was  often- 
est  that  of  low  flattish  or  three-sided  pyramids. 
When  the  base  was  very  broad,  the  apex  was 
imperfect,  with  many  irregular  rosettes  of  small 
and  perfect  pyramids,  the  largest  with  bases 
two  or  three  inches  long.  All  this  appeared  to 
advantage  only  while  the  ice  (one  twelfth  of  an 
inch  thick,  perhaps),  rested  on  the  black  water. 

What  I  write  about  at  home,  I  understand  so 
well  comparatively,  and  I  write  with  such  re 
pose  and  freedom  from  exaggeration. 

Dec.  10,  1854.  p.  M.  To  Nut  Meadow. 
Weather  warmer.  Snow  softened.  Saw  a  large 
flock  of  snow-buntings  (quite  white  against 
woods,  at  any  rate),  though  it  is  quite  warm. 
Snow-fleas  in  paths ;  first  I  have  seen.  Hear 
the  small  woodpecker's  whistle ;  not  much  else, 
only  crows  and  partridges  and  chickadees.  How 
quickly  the  snow  feels  the  warmer  wind.  The 
crust,  which  was  so  firm  and  rigid,  is  now  sud 
denly  softened,  and  there  is  much  water  in  the 
road. 

Dec.  10,  1856.  A  fine,  clear,  cold  winter 
morning,  with  a  small  leaf-frost  on  trees,  etc. 
The  thermometer  at  7.15  and  7.30  A.  M.,  3°  + 

It  is  remarkable  how  suggestive  the  slightest 
drawing  is  as  a  memento  of  things  seen.  For  a 
few  years  past  I  have  been  accustomed  to  make 


410  AUTUMN. 

a  rude  sketch  in  my  journal,  of  plants,  ice,  and 
various  natural  phenomena,  and  though  the  full 
est  accompanying  description  may  fail  to  recall 
my  experience,  these  rude  outline  drawings  do 
not  fail  to  carry  me  back  to  that  time  and  scene. 
It  is  as  if  I  saw  the  same  thing  again,  and  I 
may  again  attempt  to  describe  it  in  words,  if  I 
choose. 

Yesterday  I  walked  under  the  murderous 
Lincoln  bridge,  where  at  least  ten  men  have 
been  swept  dead  from  the  cars  within  as  many 
years.  I  looked  to  see  if  their  heads  had  in 
dented  the  bridge,  if  there  were  sturdy  blows 
given  as  well  as  received,  and  if  their  brains  lay 
about.  The  place  looks  as  innocent  as  "  a  bank 
whereon  the  wild  thyme  grows."  The  bridge 
does  its  work  in  an  artistic  manner.  We  have 
another  of  exactly  the  same  character  in  another 
part  of  the  town,  which  has  killed  one,  at  least, 
to  my  knowledge.  Surely  the  approaches  to  our 
town  are  well  guarded.  These  are  our  modern 
dragons  of  Wantley.  Buccaneers  of  the  Fitch- 
burg  Railroad,  they  lie  in  wait  at  the  narrow 
passes,  and  decimate  the  employees.  The  Com 
pany  has  signed  a  bond  to  give  up  one  employee 
at  this  pass  annually.  The  Vermont  mother 
commits  her  son  to  their  charge,  and  when  she 
asks  for  him  again,  the  directors  say,  "  I  am  not 
your  son's  keeper ;  go  look  beneath  the  ribs 


AUTUMN.  411 

of  the  Lincoln  bridge."  It  is  a  monster  which 
would  not  have  minded  Perseus  with  his  Me 
dusa's  head.  If  he  could  be  held  back  only  four 
feet  from  where  he  now  crouches,  all  travelers 
might  pass  in  safety,  and  laugh  him  to  scorn. 
This  would  require  but  a  little  resolution  in  our 
legislature,  but  it  is  preferred  to  pay  tribute 
still. 

Dec.  11, 1840.  A  man  who  had  failed  to  ful 
fill  an  engagement,  and  grossly  disappointed  me, 
came  to  me  to-night  with  a  countenance  radiant 
with  repentance,  and  so  behaved  that  it  seemed 
as  if  I  was  the  defaulter  and  could  not  be  satis 
fied  till  he  would  let  me  stand  in  that  light. 
How  long  a  course  of  strict  integrity  might  have 
come  short  of  such  confidence  and  good  will  I 
The  crack  of  his  whip  was  before  attractive 
enough,  but  such  conciliatory  words  from  that 
shaggy  coat  and  coarse  comforter  I  had  not  ex 
pected.  I  saw  the  meaning  which  lurked  far 
behind  eye,  all  the  better  for  the  dark,  as  we  see 
some  faint  stars  better  when  we  do  not  look 
directly  at  them  with  the  full  light  of  the  eye. 
A  true  contrition,  when  witnessed,  will  humble 
integrity  itself. 

Dec.  11,  1853.  To  Heywood's  Pond  and 
up  brook.  Almost  a  complete  Indian-summer 
day,  clear  and  warm.  I  am  without  greatcoat. 
Ch.  says  he  saw  larks  yesterday,  a  painted  tor- 


412  AUTUMN. 

toise  the  day  before,  under  ice  at  White  Pond, 
and  a  ground  robin  (?)  last  week.  He  conjec 
tures,  I  am  told,  that  the  landscape  looks  fairer 
when  we  turn  our  heads  upside  down,  because 
we  behold  it  with  nerves  of  the  eye  unused 
before.  Perhaps  this  reason  is  worth  more  for 
suggestion  than  explanation.  It  occurs  to  me 
that  the  reflection  of  objects  in  still  water  is  in 
a  similar  manner  fairer  than  the  substance,  and 
yet  we  do  not  employ  unused  nerves  to  behold 
it.  Is  it  not  that  we  let  much  more  light  into 
our  eyes  (which  in  the  usual  position  are  shaded 
by  the  brows),  in  the  first  case,  by  turning  them 
more  to  the  sky,  and  in  the  case  of  the  reflec 
tions,  by  having  the  sky  placed  under  our  feet  ? 
that  is,  in  both  cases  we  see  terrestrial  objects, 
with  the  sky  or  heavens  for  a  background  or 
field ;  accordingly  they  are  not  dark  or  terrene, 
but  lit  and  elysian. 

Dec.  11,  1854.  p.  M.  To  Bare  Hill.  We 
have  now  those  early,  still,  clear  winter  sunsets 
over  the  snow.  It  is  but  mid-afternoon  when  I 
see  the  sun  setting  far  through  the  woods,  and 
there  is  that  peculiar,  clear,  vitreous,  greenish 
sky  in  the  west,  as  it  were,  a  molten  gem.  The 
day  is  short.  It  seems  to  be  composed  of  two 
twilights  merely.  The  morning  and  the  evening 
twilight  make  the  whole  day.  You  must  make 
haste  to  do  the  work  of  the  day  before  it  is  dark. 


AUTUMN.  413 

I  hear  rarely  a  bird  except  the  chickadee,  or 
perchance  a  jay  or  a  crow.  A  gray  rabbit  scuds 
away  over  the  crust  in  the  swamp  on  the  edge  of 
the  Great  Meadows  beyond  Peters's.  A  par 
tridge  goes  off,  and  coming  up,  I  see  where  she 
struck  the  snow  with  her  wings,  making  five  or 
six,  as  it  were,  finger-marks. 

Dec.  11,  1855.  P.  M.  To  Holden  Swamp, 
Conantum.  For  the  first  time  I  wear  gloves, 
but  I  have  not  walked  early  this  season.  I  see 
no  birds,  but  hear,  I  think,  one  or  two  tree 
sparrows.  No  snow,  scarcely  any  ice  to  be 
detected ;  it  is  only  aggravated  November.  I 
thread  the  tangle  of  the  spruce  swamp,  admiring 
the  leaflets  of  the  swamp  pyrus  which  had  put 
forth  again,  now  frost-bitten,  the  great  yellow 
buds  of  the  swamp  pink,  the  round  red  buds  of 
the  high  blueberry,  and  the  firm  sharp  red  ones 
of  the  panicled  andromeda.  Slowly  I  worm  my 
way  amid  the  snarl,  the  thicket  of  black  alder, 
blueberry,  etc.,  see  the  forms,  apparently  of  rab 
bits,  at  the  foot  of  maples,  and  cat-birds'  nests 
now  exposed  in  the  leafless  thicket.  Standing 
there,  though  in  this  bare  November  landscape, 
I  am  reminded  of  the  incredible  phenomenon 
of  small  birds  in  winter,  that  erelong,  amid  the 
cold,  powdery  snow,  as  it  were  a  fruit  of  the 
season,  will  come  twittering  a  flock  of  delicate, 
crimson-tinged  birds,  lesser  red-polls,  to  sport 


414  AUTUMN. 

and   feed  on  the  seeds  and  buds  just  ripe  for 
them  on  the  sunny  side  of  a  wood,  shaking  down 
the  powdery  snow  there  in  their  cheerful  social 
feeding,  as  if  it  were  high  midsummer  to  them. 
These  crimson  aerial  creatures  have  wings  which 
would  bear  them  quickly  to  the  regions  of  sum 
mer,  but   here   is   all   the  summer  they  want. 
What  a  rich  contrast !  tropical  colors,  crimson 
breasts,  on  cold  white  snow !     Such  etherealness, 
such  delicacy  in  their  forms,  such  ripeness  in  their 
colors,  in  this  stern  and  barren  season  !     It  is  as 
surprising  as  if  you  were  to  find  a  brilliant  crim 
son  flower  which  flourished  amid  snow.     They 
greet  the  hunter  and  the  chopper  in  their  furs. 
Their  maker   gave    them   the   last   touch,   and 
launched  them  forth  the  day  of  the  Great  Snow. 
He  made  this  bitter  imprisoning  cold,  before 
which  man  quails,  but  he  made  at  the  same  time 
these  warm  and  glowing  creatures  to  twitter  and 
be  at  home  in  it.     He  said  not  only,  let  there  be 
linnets  in  winter,  but  linnets  of  rich  plumage 
and  pleasing  twitter,  bearing  summer  in  their 
natures.      The   snow  will   be   three   feet   deep, 
the  ice  will  be  two  feet  thick,  and  last  night, 
perchance,  the  mercury  sank  to  thirty  degrees 
below  zero.     All  the  fountains  of  nature  seem 
to  be  sealed  up.     The  traveler  is  frozen  on  his 
way,  but  under  the  edge  of  yonder  birch  wood 
will  be  a  little  flock  of  crimson-breasted  lesser 


AUTUMN.  415 

red-polls,  feeding  on  the  seeds  of  the  birch,  as 
if  a  flower  were  created  to  be  now  in  bloom,  a 
peach  to  be  now  first  fully  ripe  on  its  stem.  I 
am  struck  by  the  perfect  confidence  and  success 
of  Nature.  There  is  no  question  about  the  ex 
istence  of  these  delicate  creatures,  their  adapt- 
edness  to  their  circumstances.  There  is  added 
superfluous  painting  and  adornment,  a  crystal 
line,  jewel-like  health  and  soundness,  like  the 
colors  reflected  from  ice-crystals.  When  some 
rare  northern  bird,  like  the  pine  grossbeak,  is 
seen  thus  far  south,  in  the  winter,  he  does  not 
suggest  poverty,  but  dazzles  us  with  his  beauty. 
There  is  in  them  a  warmth  that  is  akin  to  the 
warmth  that  melts  the  icicle.  Here  is  no  im 
perfection  suggested.  The  winter  with  its  snow 
and  ice  is  not  an  evil  to  be  corrected.  It  is  as 
it  was  designed  and  made  to  be,  for  the  artist 
has  had  leisure  to  add  beauty  to  use.  I  had 
a  vision  thus  prospectively,  as  I  stood  in  the 
swamp,  of  these  birds,  my  acquaintances,  angels 
from  the  north.  I  saw  this  familiar,  too  familiar 
fact,  at  a  different  angle,  and  I  was  charmed  and 
haunted  by  it.  I  had  seen  into  paradisaic  re 
gions  with  their  air  and  sky,  and  I  was  no  longer 
wholly  or  merely  a  denizen  of  this  vulgar  earth. 
Yet  I  had  hardly  a  foothold  there.  It  is  only 
necessary  to  behold  thus  the  least  fact  or  phe 
nomenon,  however  familiar,  from  a  point  a  hair's 


416  A  UTUMN. 

breadth  aside  from  our  habitual  path  or  routine, 
to  be  overcome,  enchanted  by  its  beauty  and  sig 
nificance.  Only  what  we  have  touched  and  worn 
is  trivial,  our  scurf,  repetition,  tradition,  con 
formity.  To  perceive  freshly,  with  fresh  senses, 
is  to  be  inspired.  Great  winter  itself  looked 
like  a  precious  gem  reflecting  rainbow  colors 
from  one  angle.  My  body  is  all  sentient.  As 
I  go  here  or  there,  I  am  tickled  by  this  or  that 
I  come  in  contact  with,  as  if  I  touched  the  wires 
of  a  battery.  I  can  generally  recall,  have  fresh 
in  my  mind,  several  scratches  last  received. 
These  I  continually  recall  to  mind,  reimpress 
and  harp  upon.  The  age  of  miracles  is  each 
moment  thus  returned  ;  now  it  is  wild  apples, 
now  river  reflections,  now  a  flock  of  lesser  red 
polls.  In  winter,  too,  resides  immortal  youth 
and  perennial  summer.  Its  head  is  not  silvered, 
its  cheek  is  not  blanched,  but  has  a  ruby  tinge 
in  it.  If  any  part  of  nature  excites  our  pity,  it 
is  for  ourselves  we  grieve,  for  there  is  eternal 
health  and  beauty.  We  get  only  transient  and 
partial  glimpses  of  the  beauty  of  the  world. 
Standing  at  the  right  angle,  we  &re  dazzled  by 
the  colors  of  the  rainbow  in  colorless  ice.  From 
the  right  point  of  view,  every  storm  and  every 
drop  in  it  is  a  rainbow.  Beauty  and  music  are 
not  mere  traits  and  exceptions;  they  are  the 
rule  and  character.  It  is  the  exception  that  we 


AUTUMN.  417 

see  and  hear.  Then  I  try  to  discover  what  it 
was  in  the  vision  that  charmed  and  translated 
me.  What  if  we  could  daguerreotype  our 
thoughts  and  feelings !  —  for  I  am  surprised 
and  enchanted  often  by  some  quality  which  I 
cannot  detect.  I  have  seen  an  attribute  of  an 
other  world  and  condition  of  things.  It  is  a 
wonderful  fact  that  I  should  be  affected,  and 
thus  deeply  and  powerfully,  more  than  by  aught 
else  in  all  my  experience,  that  this  fruit  should 
be  borne  in  me,  sprung  from  a  seed  finer  than 
the  spores  of  fungi  floated  from  other  atmos 
pheres  !  finer  than  the  dust  caught  in  the  sails 
of  vessels  a  thousand  miles  from  land !  Here 
the  invisible  seeds  settle,  and  spring,  and  bear 
flowers  and  fruits  of  immortal  beauty. 

Dec.  11,  1856.  Minott  tells  me  that  his  and 
his  sister's  wood-lot  contains  about  ten  acres, 
and  has,  with  a  very  slight  exception  at  one 
time,  supplied  all  their  fuel  for  thirty  years,  and 
he  thinks  would  constantly  continue  to  do  so. 
They  keep  one  fire  all  the  time,  and  two  some  of 
the  time,  and  burn  about  eight  cords  in  a  year. 
He  knows  his  wood-lot,  and  what  grows  in  it,  as 
well  as  an  ordinary  farmer  does  his  cornfield,  for 
he  has  cut  his  own  wood  till  within  two  or  three 
years,  knows  the  history  of  every  stump  on  it, 
and  the  age  of  every  sapling,  knows  how  many 
beech-trees  and  black  birches  there  are,  as  an- 


418  AUTUMN. 

other  knows  his  pear  or  cherry  trees.  It  is 
more  economical  as  well  as  more  poetical  to  have 
a  wood-lot,  and  cut  and  get  your  own  wood  from 
year  to  year  than  to  buy  it  at  your  own  door. 
Minott  may  say  to  his  trees,  "  Submit  to  my  axe  ; 
I  cut  your  father  on  this  very  spot."  How 
many  sweet  passages  there  must  have  been  in 
his  life  there,  chopping  all  alone  in  the  short 
winter  days!  How  many  rabbits,  partridges, 
foxes  he  saw !  A  rill  runs  through  the  lot  where 
he  quenched  his  thirst,  and  several  times  he  has 
laid  it  bare.  At  last  rheumatism  has  made  him 
a  prisoner,  and  he  is  compelled  to  let  a  stranger, 
a  vandal  it  may  be,  go  into  his  lot  with  an  axe. 
It  is  fit  that  he  should  be  buried  there. 

Dec.  12, 1837.  There  are  times  when  thought 
elbows  her  way  through  the  underwood  of  words 
to  the  clear  blue  beyond  :  — 

"  O'er  bog  or  steep,  though  strait,  rough,  dense,  or  rare, 
With  head,  hands,  wings,  or  feet,  pursues  her  way, 
And  swims,  or  sinks,  or  wades,  or  creeps,  or  flies." 

But  let  her  don  her  cumbersome  working-day 
garment,  and  each  sparkling  dewdrop  will  seem 
a  "  Slough  of  Despond." 

When  we  speak  of  a  peculiarity  in  a  man  or 
a  nation,  we  think  sometimes  to  describe  a  mere 
mathematical  point.  But  in  fact  it  pervades  the 
whole,  as  a  drop  of  wine  in  a  glass  of  water 
tinges  the  whole  glass.  Some  parts  may  be  fur- 


AUTUMN.  419 

ther  removed  than  others  from  the  centre,  but 
not  a  particle  so  remote  as  not  to  be  shined  on 
or  shaded  by  it. 

No  part  of  man's  nature  is  formed  with  a 
useless  or  sinister  intent.  In  no  respect  can 
he  be  wholly  bad,  but  the  worst  passions  have 
their  root  in  the  best.  So  a  spine  is  proved  to 
be  only  an  abortive  branch  "  which,  notwith 
standing,  even  as  a  spine,  bears  leaves,  and  in 
Euphorbia  heptagona,  sometimes  flowers  and 
fruit." 

Dec.  12,  1840.  Society  seems  very  natural 
and  easy.  Can  I  not  walk  among  men  as  sim 
ply  as  in  the  woods  ?  I  am  greeted  everywhere 
with  mild  looks  and  words,  and  it  seems  as  if 
the  eaves  were  running,  and  I  heard  the  sough 
of  melting  snow  all  around  me. 

The  young  pines  springing  up  in  the  cornfields 
from  year  to  year  are  to  me  a  much  more  refresh 
ing  fact  than  the  most  abundant  harvests.  My 
last  stronghold  is  the  forest. 

Dec.  12,  1851.  In  regard  to  my  friends,  I 
feel  that  I  know  and  have  communion  with  a 
finer  and  subtler  part  of  themselves  which  does 
not  put  me  off  when  they  put  me  off,  which  is 
not  cold  to  me  when  they  are  cold,  not  till  I  am 
cold.  I  hold  by  a  deeper  and  stronger  tie  than 
absence  can  sunder. 

Ah,  dear  nature,  the  mere  remembrance,  after 


420  AUTUMN. 

a  short  forgetfulness,  of  the  pine  woods !  I 
come  to  it  as  a  hungry  man  to  a  crust  of  bread. 
I  have  been  surveying  for  twenty  or  thirty 
days,  living  coarsely,  even  as  respects  my  diet 
(for  I  find  that  will  always  alter  to  suit  my  em 
ployment),  indeed  leading  a  quite  trivial  life, 
and  to-night,  for  the  first  time,  made  a  fire  in 
my  chamber  and  endeavored  to  return  to  myself. 
I  wished  to  ally  myself'  to  the  powers  that  rule 
the  universe.  I  wished  to  dive  into  some  deep 
stream  of  thoughtful  and  devoted  life  which 
meanders  through  retired  and  fertile  meadows 
far  from  towns.  I  wished  to  do  again,  or  for 
once,  things  quite  congenial  to  my  highest,  in 
most,  and  most  sacred  nature,  to  lurk  in  crystal 
line  thought  like  the  trout  under  verdurous  banks 
where  stray  mankind  should  only  see  my  bub 
ble  come  to  the  surface.  I  wished  to  live,  ah, 
as  far  away  as  a  man  can  think.  I  wished  for 
leisure  and  quiet  to  let  my  life  flow  in  its  proper 
channels,  with  its  proper  currents,  when  I  might 
not  waste  the  days,  might  establish  daily  prayer 
and  thanksgiving  in  my  family,  might  do  my 
own  work,  and  not  the  work  of  Concord  and 
Carlisle,  which  would  yield  me  better  than 
money.  I  bethought  myself,  while  my  fire  was 
kindling,  to  open  one  of  Emerson's  books,  which 
it  happens  that  I  rarely  look  at,  to  try  what  a 
chance  sentence  out  of  that  could  do  for  me, 


AUTUMN.  421 

thinking  at  the  same  time  of  a  conversation  I 
had  with  him  the  other  night,  I  finding  fault 
with  him  for  the  stress  he  had  laid  on  some  of 
Margaret  Fuller's  whims  and  superstitions,  but 
he  declaring  gravely  that  she  was  one  of  those 
persons  whose  experience  warranted  her  attach 
ing  importance  to  such  things  as  the  Sortes  Vir- 
giliance,  for  instance,  of  which  her  numerous 
friends  could  give  remarkable  accounts.  At  any 
rate,  I  saw  that  he  was  disposed  to  regard  such 
things  more  seriously  than  I.  The  first  sentence 
which  I  opened  upon  in  his  book  was  this,  "  If, 
with  a  high  trust,  he  can  thus  submit  himself, 
he  will  find  that  ample  returns  are  poured  into 
his  bosom,  out  of  what  seemed  hours  of  obstruc 
tion  and  loss.  Let  him  not  grieve  too  much  on 
account  of  unfit  associates,"  etc. ;  "  in  a  society 
of  perfect  sympathy,  no  word,  no  act,  no  record 
would  be.  He  will  learn  that  it  is  not  much 
matter  what  he  reads,  what  he  does.  Be  a 
scholar,  and  he  shall  have  the  scholar's  part  of 
everything,"  etc.  Most  of  this  corresponded  well 
enough  with  my  mood,  and  this  would  be  as  good 
an  instance  of  the  Sortes  Virgiliance  as  most,  to 
quote.  But  what  makes  this  coincidence  very 
little,  if  at  all,  remarkable  to  me,  is  the  fact  of 
the  obviousness  of  the  moral,  so  that  I  had  per 
haps  thought  the  same  thing  myself  twenty  times 
during  the  day,  and  yet  had  not  been  contented 


422  AUTUMN. 

with  that  account  of  it,  leaving  me  thus  to  be 
amused  by  the  coincidence,  rather  than  impressed 
as  by  an  intimation  out  of  the  deeps. 

How  much  forbearance,  aye,  sacrifice  and  loss, 
goes  to  every  accomplishment !  I  am  thinking 
by  what  long  discipline  and  at  what  cost,  a  man 
learns  to  speak  simply  at  last. 

Nothing  is  so  sure  to  make  itself  known  as 
the  truth,  for  what  else  waits  to  be  known. 

Dec.  12,  1852.  Colder  at  last.  Saw  a  violet 
on  the  C.  Miles  road  where  the  bank  had  been 
burned  in  the  fall.  Beomyces  rosea,  also. 
Tansy  still  fresh  yellow,  by  the  lower  bridge. 
From  Cliffs,  I  see  snow  on  the  mountains.  Last 
night's  rain  was  then  snow  there.  They  now 
have  a  parti  -  colored  look,  like  the  skin  of  a 
pard,  as  if  they  were  spread  with  a  saddle-cloth 
for  Boreas  to  ride.  I  hear  of  a  cultivated  rose 
blossoming  in  a  garden  in  Cambridge  within  a 
day  or  two.  The  buds  of  the  aspen  are  large, 
and  show  wool  in  the  fall. 

Dec.  12,  1856.  Wonderful,  wonderful  is  our 
life,  and  that  of  our  companions !  That  there 
should  be  such  a  thing  as  a  brute  animal,  not 
human  !  that  it  should  attain  to  a  sort  of  society 
with  our  race !  Think  of  cats,  for  instance  ; 
they  are  neither  Chinese  nor  Tartars,  they  nei 
ther  go  to  school,  nor  read  the  Testament.  Yet 
how  near  they  come  to  doing  so,  how  much  they 


AUTUMN.  423 

are  like  us  who  do  so.  At  length  without  hav 
ing  solved  any  of  these  problems,  we  fatten  and 
kill  and  eat  some  of  our  cousins  ! 

Where  is  the  great  natural  historian  ?  Is  he 
a  butcher  ?  or  the  patron  of  butchers  ?  As  well 
look  for  a  great  anthropologist  among  cannibals 
or  New  Zealanders. 

Dec.  12,  1858.  Up  river  on  ice  to  Fair  Ha 
ven  Hill.  I  see  an  immense  flock  of  snow  bunt 
ings,  I  think  the  largest  I  ever  saw.  There 
must  be  a  thousand  or  two,  at  least.  There  is 
but  three  inches  at  most  of  crusted  and  dry 
frozen  snow,  and  they  are  running  amid  the 
weeds  that  rise  above  it.  They  are  very  rest 
less,  and  continually  changing  their  ground. 
They  will  suddenly  rise  again  a  few  seconds 
after  they  have  alighted,  as  if  alarmed,  but  after 
a  short  wheel,  settle  close  by.  As  they  fly  from 
you  in  some  positions,  you  see  only  or  chiefly 
the  black  part  of  their  bodies,  and  then  as  they 
wheel,  the  white  comes  into  view,  contrasted 
prettily  with  the  former,  and  in  all  together  at 
the  same  time.  Seen  flying  higher  against  a 
cloudy  sky,  they  look  like  snowflakes.  When 
they  rise  all  together,  their  note  is  like  the 
rattling  of  nuts  in  a  bag,  as  if  a  whole  bin-full 
were  rolled  from  side  to  side.  They  also  utter 
from  time  to  time,  that  is,  individuals  do,  a 
clear  rippling  note,  perhaps  an  alarm  or  call.  It 


424  AUTUMN. 

is  remarkable  that  their  note,  above  described, 
should  resemble  the  lesser  red-polls'.  Away 
goes  the  great  wheeling,  rambling  flock,  rolling 
through  the  air,  and  you  cannot  easily  tell  where 
they  will  settle.  Suddenly  the  pioneers,  or  a 
part  not  foremost,  will  change  their  course, 
when  in  full  career,  and,  when  at  length  they 
know  it,  the  rushing  flock  on  the  other  side 
will  be  fetched  about,  as  it  were,  with  an  undu 
lating  jerk,  as  in  the  boys'  game  of  snap-the- 
whip,  and  those  that  occupy  the  place  of  the. 
snapper  are  gradually  off  after  their  leaders  on 
the  new  track.  Like  a  snowstorm,  they  come 
rushing  down  from  the  north.  They  are  unusu 
ally  abundant  now.  I  should  like  to  know 
where  all  these  snowbirds  will  roost  to-night, 
for  they  will  probably  roost  together.  What 
havoc  an  owl  might  make  among  them  !  So  far 
as  I  observe,  they  confine  themselves  to  the 
uplands,  not  alighting  in  the  meadows.  But 
Melvin  tells  me  he  saw  a  thousand  feeding  a 
long  time  in  the  Great  Meadows,  he  thinks  on 
the  seeds  of  the  wool  grass,  about  the  same  time 
I  saw  those  above  described. 

Dec.  13,  1851.  Surveying  to-day.  We  had 
one  hour  of  most  Indian-summer  weather  in  the 
middle  of  the  day.  I  felt  the  influence  of  the 
sun.  It  softened  my  stoniness  a  little.  The 
pines  looked  like  old  friends  again.  Cutting  a 


AUTUMN.  425 

path  through  swamp  where  was  much  brittle 
dogwood,  etc.,  I  wanted  to  know  the  name  of 
every  bush.  This  varied  employment  to  which 
my  necessities  compel  me  serves  instead  of  for 
eign  travel  and  the  lapse  of  time.  If  it  makes 
me  forget  some  things  which  I  ought  to  re 
member,  it  no  doubt  makes  me  forget  many 
things  which  I  ought  to  forget.  By  stepping 
aside  from  my  chosen  path  so  often,  I  see  my 
self  better,  and  am  enabled  to  criticise  myself 
better.  It  seems  an  age  since  I  took  walks 
and  wrote  in  my  journal,  and  when  shall  I  re 
visit  the  glimpses  of  the  moon  ?  To  be  able  to 
see  ourselves,  not  merely  as  others  see  us,  but 
as  we  are,  that  service  a  variety  of  absorbing 
employments  does  us. 

I  would  not  be  rude  to  the  fine  intimations  of 
the  gods  for  fear  of  incurring  the  reproach  of 
superstition. 

Saw  Perez  Blood  in  his  frock,  —  a  stuttering, 
sure,  unpretending  man,  who  does  not  speak 
without  thinking,  does  not  guess.  When  I  re 
flected  how  different  he  was  from  his  neighbors, 
I  saw  that  it  was  not  so  much  outwardly,  but  that 
I  saw  an  inner  form.  We  do  indeed  see  through 
and  through  each  other,  through  the  veil  of  the 
body,  and  see  the  real  form  and  character,  in 
spite  of  the  garment.  Any  coarseness  or  ten 
derness  is  seen  and  felt  under  whatever  garb. 


420  AUTUMN. 

How  nakedly  men  appear  to  us,  for  the  spirit 
ual  assists  the  natural  eye. 

Dec.  13,  1852.  Walk  early  through  the 
woods  to  Lincoln  to  survey.  Winter  weather 
may  be  said  to  have  begun  yesterday.  Why 
have  I  ever  omitted  early  rising  and  a  morning 
walk  ?  As  we  walked  over  the  Cedar  Hill,  Mr. 
Weston  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  noticed  how  the 
frost  formed  about  a  particular  weed  in  the 
grass,  and  no  other.  It  was  a  clear  cold  morn 
ing.  We  stooped  to  examine,  and  I  observed 
about  the  base  of  the  cistus  the  frost  formed 
into  little  flattened  trumpets  or  bells,  an  inch  or 
more  long,  with  the  mouths  down  about  the  base 
of  the  stem.  They  were  very  conspicuous,  dot 
ting  the  grass  white.  But  the  most  remarkable 
thing  about  it  was  that  though  there  were  plenty 
of  other  dead  weeds  and  grasses  about,  no  other 
species  exhibited  this  phenomenon.  I  think  it 
can  hardly  be  because  of  the  form  of  its  top,  and 
that  therefore  the  moisture  is  collected  and  con 
densed,  and  flows  down  its  stem.  It  may  have 
something  to  do  with  the  life  of  the  root,  which  I 
noticed  was  putting  forth  shoots  beneath.  Per 
haps  the  growth  generates  heat  and  so  steam. 

Dec.  13,  1855.  Sanborn  tells  me  that  he  was 
waked  up  a  few  nights  ago  in  Boston  about  mid 
night  by  the  sound  of  a  flock  of  geese  passing 
over  the  city,  probably  about  the  same  night  I 


AUTUMN.  427 

heard  them  here.  They  go  honking  over  cities 
where  the  arts  flourish,  waking  the  inhabitants, 
over  state-houses  and  capitols,  where  legislatures 
sit,  over  harbors  where  fleets  lie  at  anchor,  — 
mistaking  the  city,  perhaps,  for  a  swamp  or 
the  edge  of  a  lake,  about  settling  in  it,  not  sus 
pecting  that  it  is  preoccupied  by  greater  geese 
than  themselves. 

Dec.  13,  1857.  In  sickness  and  barrenness, 
it  is  encouraging  to  believe  that  our  life  is 
dammed,  and  is  coming  to  a  head,  so  that  there 
seems  to  be  no  loss,  for  what  is  lost  in  time  is 
gained  in  power.  All  at  once,  unaccountably, 
as  we  are  walking  in  the  woods,  or  sitting  in 
our  chamber,  after  a  worthless  fortnight,  we 
cease  to  feel  mean  and  barren. 

Dec.  13,  1859.  My  first  true  winter  walk  is 
perhaps  that  which  I  take  on  the  river,  or  where 
I  cannot  go  in  the  summer.  It  is  the  walk  pe 
culiar  to  winter,  and  now  first  I  take  it.  I  see 
that  the  fox  has  already  taken  the  same  walk  be 
fore  me,  just  along  the  edge  of  the  button-bushes 
where  not  even  he  can  go  in  the  summer.  We 
both  turn  our  steps  hither  at  the  same  time. 

Now  at  2.30  p.  M.,  the  melon-rind  arrange 
ment  of  the  clouds,  really  parallel  columns  of 
fine  mackerel  sky  reaching  quite  across  the 
heavens  from  west  to  east,  with  clear  intervals 
of  blue  sky  ;  and  a  fine-grained  vapor  like  spun 


428  AUTUMN. 

glass  extending  in  the  same  direction  beneath 
the  former.  In  half  an  hour,  all  the  mackerel 
sky  is  gone. 

What  an  ever-changing  scene  is  the  sky,  its 
drifting  cirrus  and  stratus  !  The  spectators  are 
not  requested  to  take  a  recess  of  fifteen  minutes 
while  the  scene  changes,  but,  walking  commonly 
with  our  faces  to  the  earth,  our  thoughts  revert 
to  other  objects,  and  as  often  as  we  look  up,  the 
scene  has  changed.  Now  I  see  it  is  a  column  of 
white  vapor  reaching  quite  across  the  sky  from 
west  to  east,  with  locks  of  fine  hair  or  tow  that 
is  carded,  combed  out  on  each  side,  surprising 
touches  here  and  there  which  show  a  peculiar 
state  of  the  atmosphere.  No  doubt  the  best 
weather  signs  are  in  these  forms  which  the 
vapor  takes.  When  I  next  look  up  the  locks 
of  hair  are  perfect  fir-trees,  with  their  recurved 
branches.  These  trees  extend  at  right  angles 
from  the  side  of  the  main  column.  This  ap 
pearance  is  changed  all  over  the  sky  in  one 
minute. 

Again  it  is  pieces  of  asbestos,  or  the  vapor 
takes  the  curved  form  of  the  surf  or  breakers, 
and  again,  of  flames. 

But  how  long  can  a  man  be  in  a  mood  to 
watch  the  heavens  ?  That  melon-rind  arrange 
ment,  so  very  common,  is  perhaps  a  confirmation 
of  Wise  the  balloonist 's  statement  that  at  a 


AUTUMN.  429 

certain  height  there  is  a  current  of  air  moving 
from  west  to  east.  Hence  we  so  commonly 
see  the  clouds  arranged  in  parallel  divisions  in 
that  direction.  What  a  spectacle  the  subtle 
vapors  that  have  their  habitation  in  the  sky  pre 
sent  these  winter  days  !  You  have  not  only  un 
varying  forms  of  a  given  type  of  cloud,  but  vari 
ous  types  at  different  heights  or  hours.  It  is  a 
scene,  for  variety,  for  beauty  and  grandeur,  out 
of  all  proportion  to  the  attention  it  gets.  Who 
watched  the  forms  of  the  clouds  over  this  part 
of  the  earth  a  thousand  years  ago  ?  who  watches 
them  to-day  ? 

When  I  reach  the  causeway  at  the  Cut,  re 
turning,  the  sun  has  just  set,  a  perfect  winter 
sunset,  so  fair  and  pure,  with  its  golden  and 
purple  isles,  I  think  the  summer  rarely  equals  it. 
There  are  real  damask-colored  isles  or  continents 
north  of  the  sun's  place,  and  further  off  north 
east  they  pass  into  bluish  purple.  Hayden's 
house,  one  which  I  see  there,  seems  the  abode  of 
the  blessed.  The  eastern  horizon  also  is  purple. 
But  that  part  of  the  parallel  cloud  columns  over 
head  is  now  invisible.  At  length,  the  purple 
travels  westward,  as  the  sunk  sinks  lower  below 
the  horizon,  the  clouds  overhead  are  brought 
out,  and  so  the  purple  glow  glides  down  the 
western  sky. 

Dec.  14,  1840.    How  may  a  man  most  cleanly 


430  AUTUMN. 

and  gracefully  depart  out  of  nature  ?  At  pres 
ent  Ms  birth  and  death  are  offensive  and  un 
clean  things.  Disease  kills  him  and  his  carcass 
smells  to  heaven.  It  offends  the  bodily  sense 
only  so  much  as  his  life  offended  the  moral 
sense.  It  is  the  odor  of  sin.  His  carcass  in 
vites  sun  and  moisture,  and  makes  haste  to 
burst  forth  into  new  and  disgusting  forms  of 
life  with  which  it  already  teemed.  It  was  no 
better  than  carrion  before,  but  just  animated 
enough  to  keep  off  the  crows.  The  birds  of 
prey  which  hover  in  the  rear  of  an  army  are  an 
intolerable  satire  on  mankind,  and  may  well 
make  the  soldier  shudder.  The  mosquito  sings 
our  dirge,  he  is  Charon  come  to  ferry  us  over 
the  Styx.  He  preaches  a  biting  homily  to  us. 
He  says,  put  away  beef  and  pork,  small  beer 
and  ale,  and  my  trump  shall  die  away,  and  be 
no  more  heard.  The  intemperate  cannot  go 
nigh  to  any  wood  or  marsh,  but  he  hears  his  re 
quiem  sung.  Man  lays  down  his  body  in  the 
field,  and  thinks  from  it,  as  a  stepping-stone,  to 
vault  at  once  into  heaven,  as  if  he  could  estab 
lish  a  better  claim,  when  he  had  left  such  a 
witness  behind  him  on  the  plain.  Our  true  epi 
taphs  are  those  which  the  sun  and  wind  write 
upon  the  atmosphere  around  our  graves  so  con 
clusively  that  the  traveler  does  not  draw  near  to 
read  the  lie  on  our  tombstones.  Shall  we  not 


AUTUMN.  431 

be  judged  rather  by  what  we  leave  behind  us, 
than  by  what  we  bring  into  the  world  ?  The 
guest  is  known  by  his  leavings.  When  we  have 
become  intolerable  to  ourselves,  shall  we  be 
tolerable  to  heaven?  Will  our  spirits  ascend 
pure  and  fragrant  from  our  tainted  carcasses? 
May  we  not  suffer  our  impurities  gradually  to 
evaporate  in  sun  and  wind  with  the  superfluous 
juices  of  the  body,  and  so  wither  and  dry  up, 
at  last,  like  a  tree  in  the  woods,  which  possesses 
a  sort  of  embalmed  life  after  death,  and  is  as 
clean  as  the  sapling  or  fresh  buds  of  spring? 
Let  us  die  by  dry  rot  at  least.  The  dead  tree 
still  stands  erect  without  shame  or  offense 
amidst  its  green  brethren,  the  most  picturesque 
object  in  the  wood.  The  painter  puts  it  into 
the  foreground  of  his  picture,  for  in  its  death  it 
is  still  remembered.  When  Nature  finds  man 
returned  on  her  hands,  he  is  not  simply  the  pure 
elements  she  has  contributed  to  his  growth,  but 
with  her  floods  she  must  wash  away,  and  with 
her  fires  burn  up  the  filth  that  has  accumulated, 
before  she  can  receive  her  own  again.  He 
poisons  her  gales,  and  is  a  curse  to  the  land 
that  gave  him  birth.  She  is  obliged  to  employ 
her  scavengers  in  self-defense  to  abate  the  nui 
sance.  May  not  man  cast  his  shell  with  as  little 
offense  as  the  mussel,  and  it,  perchance,  be  a 
precious  relic  to  be  kept  in  the  cabinets  of  the 


432  AUTUMN. 

curious  ?  May  we  not  amuse  ourselves  with  it, 
as  when  we  count  the  layers  of  a  shell,  and 
apply  it  to  our  ear,  to  hear  the  history  of  its 
inhabitant  in  the  swells  of  the  sea,  the  pulsation 
of  the  life  which  once  passed  therein  still  faintly 
echoed  ?  We  confess  that  it  was  well  done  in 
Nature  thus  to  let  out  her  particles  of  lime  to 
the  mussel  and  coral,  to  receive  them  back  again 
with  such  interest. 

The  ancients  were  more  tidy  than  we,  who 
subjected  the  body  to  the  purification  of  fire  be 
fore  they  returned  it  upon  nature,  for  fire  is  the 
true  washer  ;  water  only  displaces  the  impurity. 
Fire  is  thorough,  water  is  superficial. 

Dec.  14,  1851.  As  for  the  weather,  all  sea 
sons  are  pretty  much  alike  to  one  who  is  actively 
at  work  in  the  woods.  I  should  say  that  there 
were  two  or  three  remarkably  warm  days,  and 
as  many  cold  ones  in  the  course  of  the  year, 
but  the  rest  are  all  alike  in  respect  to  tempera 
ture.  This  is  my  answer  to  my  acquaintances, 
who  ask  if  I  have  not  found  it  very  cold  being 
out  all  day. 

I  hear  the  small  woodpecker  whistle  as  he 
flies  toward  the  leafless  wood  on  Fair  Haven, 
doomed  to  be  out  this  winter.  The  chickadees 
remind  me  of  Hudson's  Bay  for  some  reason.  I 
look  on  them  as  natives  of  a  more  northern  lati 
tude. 


AUTUMN.  433 

The  now  dry  and  empty,  but  clean-washed 
cups  of  the  blue  curls  spot  the  half  snow-covered 
grain-fields.  Where  lately  was  a  delicate  blue 
flower,  now  all  the  winter  are  held  up  these  dry 
chalices.  What  mementos  to  stand  above  the 
snow ! 

Why  not  live  out  more  yet,  and  have  my 
friends  and  relatives  altogether  in  nature  ?  only 
my  acquaintances  among  the  villagers  ?  That 
way  diverges  from  this  I  follow,  not  at  a  sharp, 
but  a  very  wide  angle.  Ah,  nature  is  serene 
and  immortal.  Am  I  not  one  of  the  Zincali  ? 

There  are  certain  places  where  the  ice  will 
always  be  open,  where,  perchance,  warmer 
springs  come  in.  There  are  such  places  in 
every  character,  genial  and  open  in  the  coldest 
seasons. 

I  come  from  contact  with  certain  acquaint 
ances,  whom  even  I  am  disposed  to  look  to 
ward  as  possible  friends.  It  oftenest  happens 
that  I  come  from  them  wounded.  Only  they 
can  wound  me  seriously,  and  that  perhaps  with 
out  their  knowing  it. 

Dec.  14,  1852.  Ah,  who  can  tell  the  serenity 
and  clarity  of  a  New  England  winter  sunset  ? 
This  could  not  be  till  the  cold  and  the  snow 
came.  What  isles  those  western  clouds,  in  what 
a  sea! 

Dec.  14,   1854.     p.  M.     With   C.  up   north 


434  AUTUMN. 

bank  of  Assabet  to  Bridge.  The  river  is  open 
almost  its  whole  length.  It  is  a  beautifully 
smooth  mirror  with  an  icy  frame.  It  is  well  to 
improve  such  a  time  to  walk  by  it.  This  strip 
of  water  of  irregular  width  over  the  channel  be 
tween  broad  fields  of  ice  looks  like  a  polished 
silver  mirror,  or  like  another  surface  of  polished 
ice,  and  often  is  distinguished  from  the  sur 
rounding  ice  only  by  its  reflections.  I  have 
rarely  seen  any  reflections  (of  weeds,  willows, 
and  elms,  and  the  houses  of  the  village)  so  dis 
tinct,  the  stems  so  black  and  distinct,  for  they 
contrast  not  with  a  green  meadow,  but  clear 
white  ice,  to  say  nothing  of  the  silvery  surface 
of  the  water.  Your  eye  slides  first  over  a  plane 
surface  of  smooth  ice  of  one  color,  to  a  watery 
surface  of  silvery  smoothness,  like  a  gem  set  in 
ice,  and  reflecting  the  weeds,  trees,  houses,  and 
clouds  with  singular  beauty.  The  reflections  are 
particularly  simple  and  distinct.  These  twigs 
are  not  referred  to  and  confounded  with  a  broad 
green  meadow  from  which  they  spring,  as  in 
summer,  but  instead  of  that  broad  green  ground 
absorbing  the  light,  is  the  abrupt  white  field  of 
ice. 

Dec.  15,  1837.  Jack  Frost.  As  further  con 
firmation  of  the  fact  that  vegetation  is  a  kind  of 
crystallization,  I  observe  that  upon  the  edge 
of  the  melting  frost  on  the  windows,  Jack  is 


AUTUMN.  435 

playing  singular  freaks,  jiow  bundling  together 
his  needle-shaped  leaves  so  as  to  resemble  fields 
waving  with  grain,  or  shocks  of  wheat  rising 
here  and  there  from  the  stubble.  On  one  side, 
the  vegetation  of  the  torrid  zone  is  presented, 
high-towering  palms,  and  wide-spread  banyans, 
such  as  we  see  in  pictures  of  oriental  scenery. 
On  the  other,  are  arctic  pines,  stiff-frozen,  with 
branches  downcast,  like  the  arms  of  tender  men 
in  frosty  weather.  In  some  instances,  the  panes 
are  covered  with  little  feathery  flocks  where 
the  particles  radiate  from  a  common  centre,  the 
number  of  radii  varying  from  three  to  seven 
or  eight.  The  crystalline  particles  are  partial 
to  the  creases  and  flaws  in  the  glass,  and  when 
these  extend  from  sash  to  sash,  form  complete 
hedgerows,  or  miniature  watercourses,  where 
dense  masses  of  crystal  foliage  "high  over 
arched  embower." 

Dec.  15,  1838.  Silence  is  ever  less  strange 
than  noise,  lurking  amid  the  boughs  of  the  hem 
lock  or  the  pine,  just  in  proportion  as  we  find 
ourselves  there.  The  nuthatch  tapping  the  up 
right  trunks  by  our  side  is  only  a  partial  spokes 
man  for  the  solemn  stillness. 

Silence  is  the  communion  of  a  conscious  soul 
with  itself.  If  the  soul  attend  for  a  moment  to 
its  own  infinity,  then  and  there  is  silence.  She 
is  audible  to  all  men,  at  all  times,  in  all  places. 


436  AUTUMN. 

If  we  will,  we  may  always  hearken  to  her  ad 
monitions. 

Dec.  15,  1840.  When  most  at  one  with  na 
ture  I  feel  supported  and  propped  on  all  sides 
by  a  myriad  influences,  as  trees  in  the  plain  or 
on  the  hillside  are  equally  perpendicular.  The 
most  upright  man  is  he  that  most  entirely  re 
clines  (the  prone  recline  but  partially)  ;  by  his 
entire  reliance  he  is  most  erect.  Men  of  little 
faith  stand  only  by  their  feet,  or  recline  on  the 
ground,  having  lost  their  reliance  on  the  soul. 
Nature  is  right,  but  man  is  straight.  She  erects 
no  beams,  she  slants  no  rafters,  and  yet  she 
builds  stronger  and  truer  than  he.  Everywhere 
she  preaches  not  abstract,  but  practical  truth. 
She  is  no  beauty  at  her  toilet,  but  her  cheek  is 
flushed  with  exercise. 

Dec.  15,  1856.  3  P.  M.  To  Walden.  I  ob 
serve  B 's  boat  left  out  at  the  pond,  as  last 

winter.  When  I  see  that  a  man  neglects  his 
boat  thus,  I  do  not  wonder  that  he  fails  in  his 
business.  It  is  not  only  shiftlessness  or  un- 
thrift,  but  a  sort  of  filthiness  to  let  things  go  to 
wrack  and  ruin  thus. 

I  still  recall  that  characteristic  winter  evening 
of  December  9th.  The  cold,  dry,  and  whole 
some  diet  my  mind  and  senses  necessarily  fed 
on,  —  oak  leaves,  bleached  and  withered  weeds 
that  rose  above  the  snow,  the  now  dark  green  of 


AUTUMN.  437 

the  pines,  and  perchance  the  faint  metallic  chip 
of  a  single  tree  sparrow ;  the  hushed  stillness  of 
the  wood  at  sundown,  aye,  all  the  winter  day,  the 
short  boreal  twilight,  the  smooth  serenity  and 
the  reflections  of  the  pond,  still  alone  free  from 
ice ;  the  melodious  hooting  of  the  owl,  heard  at 
the  same  time  with  the  yet  more  distant  whistle 
of  a  locomotive,  more  aboriginal,  and  perchance 
more  enduring  here  than  that,  heard  above  all 
the  voices  of  the  wise  men  of  Concord,  as  if 
they  were  not  (how  little  he  is  Anglicized !), 
the  last  strokes  of  the  woodchopper,  who  pres 
ently  bends  his  steps  homeward ;  the  gilded  bar 
of  cloud  across  the  apparent  outlet  of  the  pond, 
conducting  my  thoughts  into  the  eternal  west, 
the  deepening  horizon  glow,  and  the  hasty  walk 
homeward  to  enjoy  the  long  winter  evening. 
The  hooting  of  the  owl ;  that  is  a  sound  which 
my  red  predecessors  heard  here  more  than  a 
thousand  years  ago.  It  rings  far  and  wide,  oc 
cupying  the  space  rightfully,  —  grand,  primeval, 
aboriginal  sound.  There  is  no  whisper  in  it  of 
the  Bulkeleys,  the  Flints,  the  Hosmers,  who  re 
cently  squatted  here,  nor  of  the  first  parish,  nor 
of  Concord  Fight,  nor  of  the  last  town-meeting. 
Dec.  15,  1859.  Philosophy  is  a  Greek  word, 
by  good  rights,  and  it  stands  almost  for  a  Greek 
thing,  yet  some  rumor  of  it  has  reached  the 
commonest  mind.  M.  Miles,  who  came  to  col- 


438  AUTUMN. 

lect  his  wood-bill  to-day,  said,  when  I  objected 
to  the  small  size  of  his  wood,  that  it  was  neces 
sary  to  split  wood  fine  in  order  to  cure  it  well ; 
that  he  has  found  that  more  than  four  inches  in 
diameter  would  not  dry,  and,  moreover,  a  good 
deal  depended  on  the  manner  in  which  it  was 
corded  up  in  the  woods.  He  piled  his  high  and 
tight.  If  this  were  not  well  done,  the  stakes 
would  spread  and  the  wood  lie  loosely,  and  so 
the  rain  and  snow  find  their  way  into  it,  and  he 
added,  "  I  have  handled  a  good  deal  of  wood, 
and  I  think  that  I  understand  the  philosophy 
of  it." 

Dec.  16,  1837.  The  woods  were  this  morn 
ing  covered  with  thin  bars  of  vapor,  the  evap 
oration  of  the  leaves,  according  to  Sprengel, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  suddenly  stiffened 
by  the  cold.  In  some  places  it  was  spread  out 
like  gauze  over  the  tops  of  the  trees,  forming 
extended  lawns,  where  elves  and  fairies  held 
high  tournament :  — 

"  Before  each  van 

Prick  forth  the  aery  knights,  and  couch  their  spears, 
Till  thickest  legions  close." 

The  east  was  glowing  with  a  narrow,  but  ill- 
defined  crescent  of  light,  the  blue  of  the  zenith 
mingling  in  all  possible  proportions  with  the 
salmon  color  of  the  horizon.  And  now  the 
neighboring  hilltops  telegraph  to  us  poor  crawl- 


AUTUMN.  439 

ers  of  the  plain,  the  monarch's  golden  ensign  in 
the  east. 

How  indispensable  to  a  correct  study  of  Na 
ture  is  a  percaption  of  her  true  meaning.  The 
fact  will  one  day  flower  out  into  a  truth.  The 
reason  will  mature  and  fructify  what  the  under 
standing  had  cultivated. 

Dec.  16,  1840.  Speech  is  fractional,  silence 
is  integral. 

Beauty  is  where  it  is  perceived.  When  I  see 
the  sun  shining  on  the  woods  across  the  pond, 
I  think  this  side  the  richer  which  sees  it. 

The  motion  of  quadrupeds  is  the  most  con 
strained  and  unnatural  ;  it  is  angular  and 
abrupt,  except  in  those  of  the  cat  tribe,  where 
undulation  begins.  That  of  birds  and  fishes  is 
more  graceful  and  independent.  They  move 
on  a  more  inward  pivot,  the  former  by  their 
weight  or  opposition  to  nature,  the  latter  by 
their  buoyancy  or  yielding  to  nature.  Awk 
wardness  is  a  resisting  motion,  gracefulness  is 
a  yielding  motion.  The  line  which  would  ex 
press  the  former  is  a  tangent  to  the  sphere, 
that  which  would  express  the  latter  a  radius. 
But  the  subtlest,  most  ideal,  and  spiritual  mo 
tion  is  undulation.  It  is  produced  by  the  most 
subtle  element  falling  on  the  next  subtlest. 
Rippling  is  a  more  graceful  flight.  If  you  con 
sider  it  from  the  hilltop,  you  will  detect  in  it 


440  AUTUMN. 

the  wings  of  birds  endlessly  repeated.  The  two 
waving  lines  which  express  flight  seem  copied 
from  the  ripple.  There  is  something  analogous 
to  this  in  our  most  inward  experience.  In  en 
thusiasm  we  undulate  to  the  divine  spiritus,  as 
the  lake  to  the  wind. 

Dec.  16,  1850.  I  noticed  [last  Sunday  or  the 
14th]  a  bush  covered  with  cocoons  which  were 
artfully  concealed  by  two  leaves  wrapped  round 
them,  one  still  hanging  by  its  stem,  so  that  they 
looked  like  a  few  withered  leaves  left  dangling. 
The  worm,  having  first  incased  itself  in  another 
leaf,  for  greater  protection  folded  more  loosely 
around  itself  one  of  the  leaves  of  the  plant,  tak 
ing  care,  however,  to  incase  the  leaf-stalk  and 
the  twig  with  a  thick  and  strong  web  of  silk. 
So  far  from  its  depending  on  the  strength  of  the 
stalk,  which  is  now  quite  brittle,  the  strongest 
fingers  cannot  break  it,  and  the  cocoon  can 
only  be  got  off  by  slipping  it  up  and  off  the 
twig.  There  they  hang  themselves  secure  for 
the  winter,  proof  against  cold  and  the  birds, 
ready  to  become  butterflies  when  new  leaves 
push  forth. 

The  snow  everywhere  was  covered  with  snow- 
fleas,  like  pepper.  When  you  hold  a  mass  in 
your  hand,  they  skip  and  are  gone  before  you 
know  it.  They  are  so  small  that  they  go 
through  and  through  the  new  snow.  Sometimes, 


AUTUMN.  441 

when  collected,  they  look  like  some  powder 
which  the  hunter  has  spilled  in  the  path. 

Dec.  16,  1852.  Observed  the  reflection  of 
the  snow  on  Pine  Hill  from  Walden  extending 
far  beyond  the  true  limits  of  a  reflection  quite 
across  the  pond.  Also,  less  obviously,  of  pines. 
The  sky  overcast  with  thick  scud,  which  in  the 
reflection,  the  snow  ran  into. 

Dec.  16,  1853.  The  elms  covered  with  hoar 
frost  seen  in  the  east,  against  the  morning  light, 
are  very  beautiful.  These  days,  when  the  earth 
is  still  bare  and  the  weather  is  so  warm  as  to 
create  much  vapor  by  day,  are  the  best  for  these 
frost  works. 

Would  you  be  well,  see  that  you  are  attuned 
to  each  mood  of  nature. 

Dec.  16,  1859.  A.  M.  To  Cambridge,  where 
I  read  in  Gerard's  Herbal.  His  admirable 
though  quaint  descriptions  are  to  my  mind 
greatly  superior  to  the  modern  more  scientific 
ones.  He  describes  not  according  to  rule,  but 
according  to  his  natural  delight  in  the  plants. 
He  brings  them  vividly  before  you,  as  one  who 
has  seen  and  delighted  in  them.  It  is  almost 
as  good  as  to  see  the  plants  themselves.  It  sug 
gests  that  one  cannot  too  often  get  rid  of  the 
assumption  that  is  in  our  science.  His  leaves 
are  leaves  ;  his  flowers,  flowers  ;  his  fruit,  fruit. 
They  are  colored  and  fragrant.  It  is  a  man's 


442  A  UTUMN. 

knowledge  added  to  a  child's  delight.  Modern 
botanical  descriptions  approach  ever  nearer  to 
the  dryness  of  an  algebraic  formula,  as  x  +  y  =  a 
love-letter.  It  is  the  keen  joy  and  discrimina 
tion  of  a  child  who  has  just  seen  a  flower  for 
the  first  time,  and  comes  running  in  with  it  to 
his  friends.  How  much  better  to  describe  your 
object  in  fresh  English  words  than  in  these  con 
ventional  Latinisms  !  He  has  really  seen,  and 
smelled,  and  tasted,  and  reports  his  sensations. 

Dec.  17,  1837.  In  all  ages  and  nations  we 
observe  a  leaning  towards  a  right  state  of  things. 
This  may  especially  be  seen  in  the  life  of  the 
priest,  which  approaches  most  nearly  to  that  of 
the  ideal  man.  The  druids  paid  no  taxes,  and 
"  were  allowed  exemption  from  warfare  and  all 
other  things."  The  clergy  are  even  now  a  privi 
leged  class.  In  the  last  stage  of  civilization, 
poetry,  religion,  and  philosophy  will  be  one,  and 
there  are  glimpses  of  this  truth  in  the  first. 

Dec.  17,  1840.  The  practice  of  giving  the 
feminine  gender  to  all  ideal  excellences  personi 
fied  is  a  mark  of  refinement  observable  in  the 
mythologies  of  even  the  most  barbarous  nations. 
Glory  and  victory  even  are  of  the  feminine  gen 
der,  but  it  takes  manly  qualities  to  gain  them. 
Man  is  masculine,  but  his  manliness  (virtus) 
feminine.  It  is  the  inclination  of  brute  force  to 
moral  power. 


AUTUMN.  443 

Dec.  17, 1850.  I  noticed,  when  the  snow  first 
came,  that  the  days  were  very  sensibly  length 
ened  by  the  light  reflected  from  the  snow.  Any 
work  which  required  light  could  be  pursued 
about  half  an  hour  longer,  so  we  may  well  pray 
that  the  ground  may  not  be  laid  bare  by  a  thaw 
in  these  short  winter  days. 

Dec.  17,  1851.  The  pitch-pine  woods  on  the 
right  of  the  Corner  road.  A  piercing  cold  after 
noon  ;  wading  in  the  snow.  The  pitch  pines 
hold  the  snow  well.  It  lies  now  in  balls  on  their 
plumes,  and  in  streaks  on  their  branches,  their 
low  branches  rising  at  a  small  angle  and  meet 
ing  each  other.  A  sombre  twilight  comes  through 
this  roof  of  pine  leaves  and  snow,  yet  in  some 
places  the  sun  streams  in,  producing  the  stron 
gest  contrasts  of  light  and  shade. 

The  winter  morning  is  the  time  to  see  in  per 
fection  the  woods  and  shrubs  wearing  their 
snowy  and  frosty  dress.  Even  he  who  visits 
them  half  an  hour  after  sunrise  will  have  lost 
some  of  their  most  delicate  and  fleeting  beauties. 
The  trees  wear  their  morning  burden  but  coarsely 
after  midday,  and  it  no  longer  expresses  the 
character  of  the  tree.  I  observed  that  early  in 
the  morning  every  pine  needle  was  covered  with 
a  frosty  sheath,  but  soon  after  sunrise  it  was  all 
gone.  You  walk  in  the  pitch-pine  woods  as 
under  a  pent -house.  The  stems  and  branches  of 


444  AUTUMN. 

the  trees  look  black  by  contrast.  You  wander 
zigzag  through  the  aisles  of  the  wood,  where 
stillness  and  twilight  reign.  I  do  not  know  but 
a  pine  wood  is  as  substantial  and  as  memorable 
a  fact  as  a  friend.  I  am  more  sure  to  come 
away  from  it  cheered  than  from  those  who  are 
nearest  to  being  my  friends. 

Improve  every  opportunity  to  express  yourself 
in  writing,  as  if  it  were  your  last. 

When  they  who  have  aspired  to  be  friends 
cease  to  sympathize,  it  is  the  part  of  religion  to 
keep  asunder. 

To  explain  to  a  friend  is  to  suppose  you  are 
not  intelligent  of  one  another.  If  you  are  not, 
to  what  purpose  will  you  explain  ? 

One  of  the  best  men  I  know  often  offends  me 
by  uttering  made  words,  the  very  best  words,  of 
course,  most  smooth  and  gracious  and  fluent,  a 
dash  of  polite  conversation,  a  graceful  bending, 
as  if  I  were  Master  Kingsley,  of  promising  parts, 
from  the  university.  Oh,  would  you  but  be  sim 
ple  and  downright,  would  you  but  cease  your 
palaver.  The  conversation  of  gentlemen  after 
dinner,  —  no  words  are  so  tedious.  Never  a 
natural  or  simple  word  or  yawn.  It  produces  an 
appearance  of  phlegm  and  stupidity  in  me,  the 
auditor.  I  am  suddenly  the  closest  and  most 
phlegmatic  of  mortals,  and  the  conversation 
comes  to  naught. 


A  UTUMN.  445 

My  acquaintances  sometimes  wonder  why  I 
will  impoverish  myself  by  living  aloof  from 
this  or  that  company,  but  greater  would  be 
the  impoverishment  if  I  should  associate  with 
them. 

Dec.  17,  1853.  While  surveying  in  Lincoln, 
to-day,  saw  a  great  many,  may  be  a  hundred,  sil 
very  brown  cocoons  of  some  great  moth,  wrinkled 
and  flattish,  on  young  alders  in  a  meadow,  three 
or  four  inches  long,  fastened  to  the  main  stem 
and  branches  at  the  same  time,  with  dry  alder 
and  fragments  of  fern  leaves  attached  to  and 
partially  concealing  them. 

Dec.  17,  1856.  P.  M.  Cold,  with  a  piercing 
northwest  wind  and  bare  ground  still.  It  is 
pretty  poor  picking  outdoors  to-day.  There  's 
but  little  comfort  to  be  found.  You  go  stump 
ing  over  bare  frozen  ground,  sometimes  clothed 
with  curly,  yellowish,  withered  grass,  like  the 
back  of  half-starved  cattle  late  in  the  fall,  now 
beating  this  ear,  now  that,  to  keep  them  warm. 
It  is  comparatively  summer-like  on  the  south 
side  of  woods  and  hills. 

When  I  returned  from  the  south  the  other 
day,  I  was  greeted  by  withered  shrub-oak  leaves 
which  I  had  not  seen  there.  It  was  the  most 
homely  and  agreeable  object  that  met  me.  I 
found  that  I  had  no  such  friend  as  the  shrub 
oak  hereabouts.  A  farmer  once  asked  me  what 


446  AUTUMN. 

they  were  made  for,  not  knowing  any  use  they 
served.  But  I  can  tell  him  that  they  do  me 
good.  They  are  my  parish  ministers,  regularly 
settled.  They  never  did  any  man  harm  that  I 
know.  Now  you  have  the  foliage  of  summer 
painted  in  brown.  Go  through  the  shrub  oaks. 
All  growth  has  ceased,  no  greenness  meets  the 
eye,  except  what  there  may  be  in  the  bark  of 
this  shrub.  The  green  leaves  are  all  turned  to 
brown,  quite  dry  and  sapless,  the  little  buds  are 
sleeping  at  the  base  of  the  slender  shrunken 
petioles.  Who  observed  when  they  passed  from 
green  to  brown  ?  I  do  not  remember  the  transi 
tion.  But  these  leaves  still  have  a  kind  of  life 
in  them.  They  are  exceedingly  beautiful  in 
their  withered  state.  If  they  hang  on,  it  is  like 
the  perseverance  of  the  saints.  Their  colors  are 
as  wholesome,  their  forms  as  perfect  as  ever. 
Now  that  the  crowd  and  bustle  of  summer  is 
passed,  I  have  leisure  to  admire  them.  Their 
figures  never  weary  my  eye.  Look  at  the  few 
broad  scallops  in  their  sides.  When  was  that  pat 
tern  first  cut  ?  With  what  a  free  stroke  the  curve 
was  struck !  With  how  little,  yet  just  enough, 
variety  in  their  forms  !  Look  at  the  fine  bristles 
which  arm  each  pointed  lobe,  as  perfect  now  as 
when  the  wild  bee  hummed  about  them,  or  the 
chewink  scratched  beneath  them.  What  pleas 
ing  and  harmonious  colors  above  and  below! 


AUTUMN.  447 

The  smooth,  delicately  brown-tanned  upper  sur 
face,  acorn-color,  and  the  very  pale,  some  silvery 
or  ashy,  ribbed  under  side.  How  poetically,  how 
like  saints,  or  innocent  and  beneficent  beings 
they  give  up  the  ghost !  How  spiritual !  Though 
they  have  lost  their  sap,  they  have  not  given  up 
the  ghost.  Rarely  touched  by  worm  or  insect, 
they  are  as  fair  as  ever. 

Dec.  17,  1859.  P.  M.  To  Walden.  I  see  on 
the  pure  white  snow  what  looks  like  dust  for 
half  a  dozen  inches  under  a  twig.  Looking 
closely  I  find  that  the  twig  is  hardhack,  and  the 
dust  its  slender,  light-brown,  chaffy-looking  seed, 
which  falls  still  in  copious  showers,  dusting  the 
snow,  when  I  jar  it,  and  here  are  the  tracks  of  a 
sparrow  which  has  jarred  the  twig,  and  picked 
the  minute  seeds  a  long  time,  making  quite  a 
hole  in  the  snow.  The  seeds  are  so  fine  that  it 
must  have  got  more  snow  than  seed  at  each  pick. 
But  they  probably  look  large  to  its  microscopic 
eyes.  I  see,  when  I  jar  it,  that  a  meadow-sweet 
close  by  has  quite  similar,  but  larger  seeds. 
This  is  the  reason,  then,  that  these  plants  rise 
so  high  above  the  snow,  and  retain  their  seed, 
dispersing  it,  on  the  least  jar,  over  each  succes 
sive  layer  of  snow  beneath  them  ;  or  it  is  carried 
to  distant  places  by  the  wind.  What  abundance 
and  what  variety  in  the  diet  of  these  small 
graminivorous  birds,  while  I  find  only  a  few 


448  AUTUMN. 

nuts  still.  These  stiff  weeds  which  no  snow 
can  break  down,  hold  their  provender.  What 
the  cereals  are  to  men,  these  are  to  the  spar 
rows.  The  only  threshing  they  require  is  that 
the  birds  fly  against  their  spikes  or  stalks.  A 
little  further  I  see  the  seed-box,  Ludwigia,  full 
of  still  smaller  yellowish  seeds.  On  the  ridge, 
north,  is  the  track  of  a  partridge  amid  the 
shrubs.  It  has  hopped  up  to  the  low  clusters  of 
smooth  sumac  berries,  sprinkled  the  snow  with 
them,  and  eaten  all  but  a  few.  Also,  here  only, 
or  where  it  has  evidently  jarred  them  down 
(whether  intentionally  or  not,  I  am  not  sure), 
are  the  large  oval  seeds  of  the  stiff-stalked 
lespedeza,  which  I  suspect  it  ate  with  the  sumac 
berries.  There  is  much  solid  food  in  them. 
When  the  snow  is  deep,  the  birds  can  easily 
pick  the  latter  out  of  the  heads,  as  they  stand  in 
the  snow. 

Dec.  18,  1852.  P.  M.  To  Anursnack.  Very 
cold,  windy  day.  Loring's  Pond  beautifully 
frozen.  (This  the  first  skating.)  So  polished 
the  surface,  I  took  many  parts  of  it  for  water. 
It  was  waved  or  watered  with  a  slight  dust, 
nevertheless.  Cracked  into  large  squares,  like 
the  faces  of  a  reflector,  it  was  so  exquisitely 
polished  that  the  sky  and  dun-colored  scudding 
clouds,  with  mother-o'-pearl  tints,  were  reflected 
in  it  as  in  the  calmest  water.  I  slid  over  it 


AUTUMN.  449 

with  a  little  misgiving,  mistaking  the  ice  before 
me  for  water.  Still  the  little  ruby-crowned 
birds  about. 

Dec.  18,  1856.  12  M.  Start  for  Amherst, 
N.  H.  A  very  cold  day.  Thermometer  at  eight 
A.  M.,  8°,  and  I  hear  of  others  very  much  lower 
at  an  earlier  hour,  2°  at  11.45.  The  last  half 
the  route  from  Groton  Junction  to  Nashua  is 
along  the  Nashua  river  mostly.  This  river  looks 
less  interesting  than  the  Concord.  It  appears 
even  more  open,  that  is,  less  wooded  (?).  At 
any  rate,  the  banks  are  more  uniform,  and  I 
notice  none  of  our  meadows  on  it.  At  Nashua, 
hire  a  horse  and  sleigh,  and  ride  to  Amherst, 
eleven  miles,  against  a  strong  northwest  wind, 
this  bitter  cold  afternoon.  At  my  lecture,  the 
audience  attended  closely,  and  I  was  satisfied. 
That  is  all  I  ask  or  expect  generally.  Not  one 
spoke  to  me  afterward,  nor  needed  they.  I  have 
no  doubt  they  liked  it  in  the  main,  though  none 
of  them  would  have  dared  say  so,  provided  they 
were  conscious  of  it.  Generally,  if  I  can  only 
get  the  ears  of  an  audience,  I  do  not  care  whether 
they  say  they  like  my  lecture  or  not.  I  think 
I  know  as  well  as  they  can  tell.  At  any  rate, 
it  is  none  of  my  business,  and  it  would  be  im 
pertinent  for  me  to  inquire.  The  stupidity  of 
most  of  these  country  towns,  not  to  include  the 
cities,  is  in  their  infantile  innocence.  Lectured 


450  AUTUMN. 

in  basement  (vestry)  of  the  orthodox  church, 
and,  I  trust,  helped  to  undermine  it.  I  was 
told  to  stop  at  the  United  States  Hotel ;  an  old 
inhabitant  had  never  heard  of  it,  but  I  found 
the  letters  on  a  sign  without  help.  It  was  the 
ordinary,  unpretending  (?),  desolate  -  looking 
country  tavern.  The  landlord  apologized  to  me 
because  there  was  to  be  a  ball  there  that  night, 
which  would  keep  me  awake,  and  it  did. 

Dec.  18,  1859.  Rain.  It  rains  but  little 
this  afternoon,  though  there  is  no  sign  of  fair 
weather.  It  is  a  lichen  day.  The  pitch  pines 
are  very  inspiriting  to  behold.  Their  green  is 
as  much  enlivened  and  freshened  as  that  of  the 
lichens.  It  suggests  a  sort  of  sunlight  on  them, 
though  not  even  a  patch  of  clear  sky  is  to  be 
seen  to-day.  As  dry  and  olive  or  slate-colored 
lichens  are  of  a  fresh  and  living  green,  so  the 
already  green  pine  needles  have  acquired  a  far 
livelier  tint,  as  if  they  enjoyed  this  moisture  as 
much  as  the  lichens  do.  They  seem  to  be  lit  up 
more  than  when  the  sun  falls  on  them.  Their 
trunks  and  those  of  trees  generally,  being  wet, 
are  very  black,  and  the  bright  lichens  on  them 
are  so  much  the  more  remarkable.  Apples  are 
thawed  now,  and  are  very  good.  Their  juice  is 
the  best  kind  of  bottled  cider  that  I  know. 
They  are  all  good  in  this  state,  and  your  jaws 
are  the  cider  press.  The  oak  woods  a  quarter 


AUTUMN.  451 

of  a  mile  off  appear  more  uniformly  red  than 
ever.  The  withered  leaves,  being  thoroughly 
saturated  with  moisture,  are  of  a  livelier  color, 
and  they  are  not  only  redder  for  being  wet,  but 
through  the  obscurity  of  the  mist  one  leaf  runs 
into  another,  and  the  whole  mass  makes  one 
impression. 

Dec.  19,  1837.  Hell  itself  may  be  contained 
within  the  compass  of  a  spark. 

Dec.  19, 1840.  This  plain  sheet  of  snow  which 
covers  the  ice  of  the  pond  is  not  such  a  blank- 
ness  as  is  unwritten,  but  such  as  is  unread.  All 
colors  are  in  white.  It  is  such  simple  diet  to 
my  senses  as  the  grass  and  the  sky.  There  is 
nothing  fantastic  in  them.  Their  simple  beauty 
has  sufficed  men  from  the  earliest  times.  They 
have  never  criticised  the  blue  sky  and  the  green 
grass. 

Dec.  19,  1850.  The  witch  hazel  is  covered 
with  fruit,  and  droops  over  gracefully,  like  a 
willow,  the  yellow  foundation  of  its  flowers  still 
remaining. 

Dec.  19,  1851.  In  all  woods  is  heard  now, 
far  and  near,  the  sound  of  the  woodchopper's 
axe ;  a  twilight  sound  now  in  the  night  of  the 
year,  as  if  men  had  stolen  forth  in  the  arctic 
night  to  get  fuel  to  keep  their  fires  a-going. 

The  sound  of  the  axes  far  in  the  horizon  is 
like  the  dropping  of  the  eaves.  Now  the  sun 


452  AUTUMN. 

sets  suddenly  without  a  cloud,  and  with  scarcely 
any  redness  following,  so  pure  is  the  atmos 
phere,  only  a  faint  rosy  blush  along  the  horizon. 

Dec.  19,  1854.  p.  M.  Skated  half  mile  up 
Assabet,  and  then  to  foot  of  Fair  Haven  Hill. 
This  is  the  first  tolerable  skating.  I  am  sur 
prised  to  find  how  rapidly  and  easily  I  get  along, 
how  soon  I  am  at  this  brook,  or  that  bend  in  the 
river,  which  it  takes  me  so  long  to  reach  on  the 
bank  or  by  water.  I  can  go  more  than  double 
the  usual  distance  before  dark. 

Near  the  island  I  saw  a  muskrat  close  by, 
swimming  in  an  open  reach.  He  was  always 
headed  up  stream,  a  great  proportion  of  the 
head  out  of  water,  and  his  whole  length  visible, 
though  the  root  of  the  tail  is  about  level  with 
the  water.  It  is  surprising  how  dry  he  looks,  as 
if  that  back  was  never  immersed  in  the  water. 
Off  Clamshell,  I  heard  and  saw  a  large  flock  of 
Fringilla  linaria  over  the  meadow.  Suddenly 
they  turn  aside  in  their  flight,  and  dash  across 
the  river  to  a  large,  white  birch,  fifteen  rods  off, 
which  plainly  they  had  distinguished  so  far.  I 
afterward  saw  many  more  in  the  Potter  swamp 
up  the  river.  They  were  commonly  brown,  or 
dusky  above,  streaked  with  yellowish  white  or 
ash,  and  more  or  less  white  or  ash  beneath. 
Most  had  a  crimson  crown  or  frontlet,  and  a 
few  a  crimson  neck  and  breast,  very  handsome. 


AUTUMN.  453 

Some,  with  a  bright  crimson  crown,  had  clean 
white  breasts.  I  suspect  that  these  were  young 
males.  They  keep  up  an  incessant  twitter 
ing,  varied  from  time  to  time  with  some  mew 
ing  notes.  Occasionally,  for  some  unknown 
reason,  they  will  all  suddenly  dash  away  with 
that  universal  loud  note  (twitter),  like  a  bag  of 
nuts.  They  are  busily  clustered  in  the  tops  of 
the  birches,  picking  the  seeds  out  of  the  catkins, 
and  sustain  themselves  in  all  kinds  of  attitudes, 
sometimes  head  downwards,  while  about  this. 
Common  as  they  are  now,  and  were  winter  be 
fore  last,  I  saw  none  last  winter. 

Dec.  19,  1859.  When  a  man  is  young,  and 
his  constitution  and  body  have  not  acquired 
firmness,  that  is,  before  he  has  arrived  at  mid 
dle  age,  he  is  not  an  assured  inhabitant  of  the 
earth,  and  his  compensation  is  that  he  is  not 
quite  earthy.  The  greater  uncertainty  of  his 
fate  seems  to  ally  him  to  a  nobler  race  of  be 
ings,  to  whom  he  in  part  belongs,  or  with  whom 
he  is  in  communication.  The  young  man  is  a 
demigod,  he  is  but  half  here,  he  knows  not  the 
men  of  this  world,  the  powers  that  be.  They 
know  him  not.  Prompted  by  the  reminiscence 
of  that  other  sphere  from  which  he  has  so  lately 
arrived,  his  actions  are  unintelligible  to  his 
seniors.  He  bathes  in  light.  He  is  interesting 
as  a  stranger  from  another  sphere.  He  really 


454  AUTUMN. 

thinks  and  talks  about  a  larger  sphere  of  exist 
ence  than  this  world.  It  takes  him  forty  years 
to  accommodate  himself  to  the  conditions  of  this 
world.  This  is  the  age  of  poetry.  Afterward 
he  may  be  the  president  of  a  bank,  and  go  the 
way  of  all  flesh.  But  a  man  of  settled  views, 
whose  thoughts  are  few  and  hardened  like  his 
bones,  is  truly  mortal,  and  his  only  resource  is 
to  say  his  prayers. 

Dec.  20,  1840.  My  home  is  as  much  of  na 
ture  as  my  heart  embraces.  If  I  only  warm  my 
house,  then  is  that  only  my  home.  But  if  I 
sympathize  with  the  heats  and  colds,  the  sounds 
and  silence  of  nature,  and  share  the  repose  and 
equanimity  that  reign  around  me  in  the  fields, 
then  are  they  my  house,  as  much  as  if  the  kettle 
sang  and  fagots  crackled,  and  the  clock  ticked 
on  the  wall. 

I  rarely  read  a  sentence  which  speaks  to  my 
muse  as  nature  does.  Through  the  sweetness 
of  his  verse,  without  regard  to  the  sense,  I 
have  communion  with  Burns.  His  plaint  es 
capes  through  the  flexure  of  his  verses.  It  was 
all  the  record  it  admitted. 

Dec.  20,  1851.  To  Fair  Haven  Hill  and 
plain  below.  Saw  a  large  hawk  circling  over  a 
pine  wood  below  me,  and  screaming,  apparently 
that  he  might  discover  his  prey  by  their  flight. 
Traveling  ever  by  wider  circles,  what  a  symbol 


AUTUMN.  455 

of  the  thoughts ;  now  soaring,  now  descending, 
taking  larger  and  larger  circles,  or  smaller  and 
smaller.  It  flies  not  directly  whither  it  is 
bound,  but  advances  by  circles,  like  a  courtier 
of  the  skies.  No  such  noble  progress  !  How  it 
comes  round,  as  with  a  wider  sweep  of  thought ! 
But  the  majesty  is  in  the  imagination  of  the  be 
holder,  for  the  bird  is  intent  on  its  prey.  Cir 
cling  and  ever  circling,  you  cannot  divine  which 
way  it  will  incline,  till  perchance  it  drives  down 
straight  as  an  arrow  to  its  mark.  It  rises  higher 
above  where  I  stand,  and  I  see  with  beautiful 
distinctness  its  wings  against  the  sky,  primaries 
and  secondaries,  and  the  rich  tracery  of  the 
outline  of  the  latter  (?),its  inner  wings  or  wing- 
linings,  within  the  outer,  like  a  great  moth  seen 
against  the  sky;  a  will-o'-the-wind,  following 
its  path  through  the  vortices  of  the  air ;  the 
poetry  of  motion,  not  as  preferring  one  place  to 
another,  but  enjoying  each  as  long  as  possible, 
most  gracefully  thus  surveying  new  scenes,  and 
revisiting  the  old.  How  bravely  he  came  round 
one  of  those  parts  of  the  wood  which  he  had  not 
surveyed,  taking  in  a  new  segment,  annexing 
new  territories.  Without  "  Heave  yo,"  it  trims 
its  sail.  It  goes  about  without  the  creaking  of 
a  block.  That  America,  yacht  of  the  air,  that 
never  makes  a  tack,  though  it  rounds  the  globe 
itself ;  takes  in  and  shake  out  its  reefs  without 


456  AUTUMN. 

a  flutter,  its  sky-scrapers  all  under  its  control ; 
holds  up  one  wing,  as  if  to  admire,  and  sweeps 
off  this  way,  then  holds  up  the  other,  and  sweeps 
off  that  way.  If  there  are  two  concentrically 
circling,  it  is  such  a  regatta  as  Southampton 
waters  never  witnessed.  Flights  of  imagina 
tion  !  Coleridgean  thoughts !  So  a  man  is  said 
to  rise  in  his  thought  ever  to  fresh  woods  and 
pastures  new. 

Red,  white,  and  green,  and  in  the  distance 
dark  brown,  are  the  colors  of  the  winter  land 
scape.  I  view  it  now  from  the  cliffs.  The  red 
shrub  oaks  on  the  white  ground  of  the  plain 
beneath  make  a  pretty  scene.  Most  walkers 
are  pretty  effectually  shut  up  by  the  snow. 

It  is  no  doubt  a  good  lesson  for  the  wood- 
chopper,  his  long  day  in  the  woods,  and  he  gets 
more  than  his  half-dollar  a  cord. 

Say  the  thing  with  which  you  labor.  It  is  a 
waste  of  time  for  the  writer  to  use  his  talents 
merely.  Be  faithful  to  your  genius.  Write  in 
the  strain  that  interests  you  most.  Consult  not 
the  popular  taste. 

A  clump  of  white  pines  seen  far  westward 
over  the  shrub-oak  plain  which  is  now  lit  up  by 
the  setting  sun,  a  soft  feathery  grove,  with  their 
gray  stems  indistinctly  seen,  like  human  beings 
come  to  their  cabin  door,  standing  expectant  on 
the  edge  of  the  plain,  inspires  me  with  a  mild 


AUTUMN.  457 

humanity.  The  trees  indeed  have  hearts.  The 
sun  seems  to  send  its  farewell  ray  far  and  level 
over  the  copses  to  them,  and  they  silently  re 
ceive  it  with  gratitude,  like  a  group  of  settlers 
with  their  children.  The  pines  impress  me  as 
human.  A  slight  vaporous  cloud  floats  high 
over  them,  while  in  the  west  the  sun  goes  down 
apace  behind  glowing  pines  and  golden  clouds 
which  like  mountains  skirt  the  horizon.  No 
thing  stands  up  more  free  from  blame  in  this 
world  than  a  pine-tree. 

The  dull  and  blundering  behavior  of  clowns 
will  as  surely  polish  the  writer  at  last,  as  the 
criticism  of  men  of  thought. 

Our  country  is  broad  and  rich,  for  here  within 
twenty  miles  of  Boston  I  can  stand  in  a  clear 
ing  in  the  woods,  and  look  a  mile  or  more  over 
the  shrub  oaks  to  the  distant  pine  copses  and 
horizon  of  uncut  woods,  without  a  house  or 
road  or  cultivated  field  in  sight. 

Go  out  before  sunrise,  or  stay  out  till  sunset. 

It  is  wonderful,  wonderful,  the  unceasing  de 
mand  that  Christendom  makes  on  you,  that  you 
speak  from  a  moral  point  of  view.  Though 
you  be  a  babe,  the  cry  is,  repent,  repent.  The 
Christian  world  will  not  admit  that  a  man  has  a 
just  perception  of  any  truth  unless  at  the  same 
time  he  cries,  "  Lord,  be  merciful  to  me,  a  sin 
ner." 


458  AUTUMN. 

What  made  the  hawk  mount?  Did  he  not 
fill  himself  with  air  ?  Before  you  were  aware 
of  it,  he  had  mounted  by  his  spiral  path  into  the 
heavens. 

Dec.  20,  1854.  9  A.  M.  To  HiU.  Said  to  be 
the  coldest  morning  as  yet.  The  river  appears 
to  be  frozen  everywhere.  Where  was  water  last 
night,  is  a  firm  bridge  of  ice  this  morning.  The 
snow  which  has  blown  upon  the  ice  has  taken 
the  form  of  regular  star-shaped  crystals  an  inch 
in  diameter.  Sometimes  these  are  arranged 
in  the  form  of  a  spear  three  feet  long,  quite 
straight.  I  see  the  mother-o'-pearl  tints  now  at 
sunrise  on  the  clouds  high  over  the  eastern  hori 
zon,  before  the  sun  has  risen  above  the  low  bank 
in  the  east.  The  sky  in  the  eastern  horizon  has 
that  same  greenish,  vitreous,  gem-like  appear 
ance  which  it  has  at  sundown,  as  if  it  were 
of  perfectly  clear  glass,  with  the  green  tint  of 
a  large  mass  of  glass.  Here  are  some  crows 
already  seeking  their  breakfast  in  the  orchard, 
and  I  hear  a  red  squirrel's  reproof.  The  wood- 
choppers  are  hastening  to  their  work  afar  off, 
walking  fast  to  keep  warm,  before  the  sun  has 
risen,  their  ears  and  hands  well  covered,  the  dry 
cold  snow  squeaking  under  their  feet.  They 
will  be  warmer  after  they  have  been  at  work  an 
hour.  p.  M.  Skated  to  Fair  Haven  with  C. 
C's  skates  are  not  the  best,  and  beside,  he  is 


AUTUMN.  459 

far  from  an  easy  skater,  so  that,  as  he  said,  it 
was  killing  work  for  him.  Time  and  again  the 
perspiration  actually  dropped  from  his  fore 
head  upon  the  ice,  and  it  froze  in  long  icicles 
on  his  beard.  Yet  he  kept  up  his  spirits  and 
his  fun.  It  has  been  a  glorious  winter  day ; 
its  elements  so  simple,  the  sharp,  clear  air,  the 
white  snow  everywhere  covering  the  earth,  and 
the  polished  ice.  Cold  as  it  is,  the  sun  seems 
warmer  on  my  back  even  than  in  summer,  as  if 
its  rays  met  with  less  obstruction.  And  then 
the  air  is  so  beautifully  still,  not  an  insect  in 
it,  hardly  a  leaf  to  rustle.  If  there  is  a  grub 
out,  you  are  sure  to  detect  it  on  the  snow  or 
ice.  The  shadows  of  the  Clamshell  hills  are 
beautifully  blue,  as  I  look  back  half  a  mile  at 
them,  and  in  some  places  where  the  sun  falls  on 
it,  the  snow  has  a  pinkish  tinge. 


INDEX. 


ACADEMY  of  Natural  Sciences,  302. 

Acorn,  83,  84,  86,  87,  172,  173,  325. 

Acquaintances,  433,  445. 

Advantages,  390. 

JEschylus,  21G,  217. 

African  seeds,  285. 

Afternoon,  21,  28,  181,  182. 

Alcott,  Mr.,  150. 

Alder,  307. 

Alternate  reproduction,  107. 

Amherst,  N.  H.,449. 

Amusements,  178,  179,  180, 196. 

Andrewsii,  35. 

Andromeda,  391,  394,  413. 

Andromeda  Ponds,  290. 

Andromeda  Swamp,  391. 

Andropogon  scoparius,  117. 

Anemone,  323,  324. 

Antiquity,  267. 

Ants,  211,275,280. 

Anursnack,  206,  448. 

Apple  blossoms,  228. 

Apples,  83,   95,  96,   134,  135,  212, 

Ardea  minor,  70,  78,  159. 
Arrowheads,  84,  117,  120,  173,  174, 

344. 

Art,  89 ;  works  of,  9. 
Arum  berries,  25. 
Asclepias  cornuti,  50,  51. 
Ash,  41. 
Ash,  black,  41. 
Ash,  white,  41,  210. 
Ashes,  79. 
Aspens,  57,  422. 
Aspidium  cristatum,  186. 
Aspidium    spinulosum,    186.      See 

Ferns. 

Aspirations,  154. 
Assabet,  89,  114,  137,  167,  193,  240, 

250,  288,  310,  345,  408,  434,  452. 
Associates,  320. 
Aster,  42,  70,  79,  147. 
Aster  multiflorus,  29. 
Aster  tradescauti,  29. 


Aster  undulatus,  239, 318. 
Atmosphere,  24,  248. 
Aubreys,  349. 
Author,  19. 
Authorship,  164. 
Autumn,  108,  248. 
Autumn  afternoons,  21,  28. 
Autumnal  tints,  16,  19,  55,  58,  79, 
102,  110, 143,  147,  312. 

BACON,  leg  of,  356. 

Ball's  Hill,  147,  373,  374. 

Banks,  Sir  Joseph,  104. 

Barberries,  136. 

Bare  Hill,  412. 

Bark  of  trees,  199,  234,  235. 

Barn,  332. 

Barrett's  Mill,  127,  186. 

Bateman's  Pond,  59,  199,  200,226. 

Battle-ground,  370. 

Bays,  357. 

Baywings,  68. 

Beanfield,  376. 

Bear  Garden,  400. 

Beauty,  439. 

Bee  hunting,  42,  43,  44, 45. 

Beech  leaves,  198. 

Beeches,  199. 

Bees,  42,  43,  44, 45,  46,  47. 

Beggar  ticks,  39,  53. 

Bell,  97,  98,  362,  363. 

Beomyces  rosea,  422. 

Berries,  26,  27,  136,  320. 

Bible,  116. 

Bidens,  38,  39,  53,  70. 

Bidens  connata,  239,  318. 

Bigelow,  322. 

Bigelow's   "  Plants  of   Boston   and 

vicinity,"  386. 
Billerica,  370,  372, 373. 
Birch,  190, 191,  198. 
Birch  groves,  353. 
Birch,  white,  41. 
Birches,  297,  310. 
Birches,  white,  29,  169,  220,  297. 


462 


INDEX. 


Birches,  yellow,  37,  148. 

Birds,  13,  69,  70,  79,  80,  127,  190, 

230,  252,  319,  400,  401,  413,  449. 
Birds,  collection  of,  303. 
Birds,  diet  of,  447,  448. 
Birds,  motions  of,  252. 
Birds'  nests,  239. 
Bittern,  70, 193, 199. 
Bittern  cliff,  392. 
Blackberry  leaves,  17. 
Blackberry  vines,  !i9. 
Blackbirds,  70,  88. 
Blackfish,  402. 
Blake,  240. 
Bleat  of  sheep,  148. 
Blood,  Perez,  425. 
Bloom,  213,  214,  368. 
Blueberry  buds,  283. 
Blueberry  bushes,  118,  413. 
Blueberry  twigs,  314. 
Bluebirds,  28,  79,  80,  91,  192,  224. 
Bluets,  37. 

Boat,  355,  388,  389,  436. 
Body,  56,  430,  431,  432. 
Bones,  247. 

Book  of  autumn  leaves,  312. 
Book:   "A   Week  on  the  Concord 

and  Merrimack  Rivers,"  163,339. 
Books,  303. 
Books,  Indian,  355. 
Boomer,  70. 
Boots,  378. 
Botanists,  5. 
Botany,  386,  387. 
Boulder  field,  35,  204, 234. 
Boulders,  204,  205. 
Box-trap,  85. 
Boys  and  horse,  54. 
Bradford,  401,  402. 
Breams,  360,  361,  362. 
British  naturalists,  104. 
Broker,  140. 
Brook,  278. 

Brooks,  Abel,  341,  342. 
Broom  pods,  2. 
Brown,  Capt.  John,  260,  277,  278, 

290,  363,  382. 
Brown  creeper,  335. 
Brown,  Simon,  362. 
Brown's,  James  P.,  Pond,  344,  257. 
Buds,  283,  340,  364,  377. 
Bull-frog,  23. 
Bullocks,  305,  306. 
Bumblebees,  42,  46. 
Bunker  Hill  Monument,  71. 
Burns,  454. 
Business  dealings,  274. 
Buttercup,  217,  265,  318,  321. 
Butterflies,  42,  197. 


Button-bushes,  182. 
Buttonwoods,  41. 
Buttons,  122. 
Byron,  Lord,  398. 

C.,  W.  E.,  18,  239,   357,   370,   458, 

459. 

Caddis-worms,  136,  137,  317. 
Cambridge,  343,  349,  350,  441. 
Canoe  birch,  190,  191,  198. 
Cape  Ann,  4,  48. 
Cardinal  shore,  265,  407. 
Carlisle  road,  10,  12,  59,  134. 
Cat,  36,  52,  180,  32^  385. 
Cat-birds'  nests,  413. 
Cato,  88. 

Cat-owl,  7,  292,  293. 
Cats,  422. 

Cattle,  235,  259,  328. 
Cattle  on  Sundays,  100. 
Causeway,  429. 
Cedar  Hill,  426. 
Cerastium,  318. 
Cerastium  viscosum,  283. 
Change,  121. 

Character,  252,  253,  350,  351. 
Cheney's  shore,  114. 
Chestnut-tree,  123. 
Chestnuts,  94,  95,  110,  113,  124,  144, 

146,  404. 
Chickadees,  69,  92,  95,  102-,  103,  114, 

119,  187,  198,  210,  211,  226,  227, 

229,  234,  335,  340,  365,  380,409,432. 
Chickweed,  318. 
Chipbirds,  68. 


Chips,  341,  342. 
Cholm 


mondeley,  355. 
Chords,  130. 
Christ,  281,  380,  382,  383. 
Christendom,  457. 
Christians,  14. 
Church,  281,  282,  284. 
Church  of  England,  180. 
Cicindela,  340. 
Circus,  18. 
Cistus,  426. 
Clam,  250. 
Clamshell,  21,  23,  28,  117.  156,  157, 

199,  286,  304,  332,  352. 
Clamshell  bank,  21. 
Clamshell  Hill,  174,  376,  459. 
Clamshell  meadow,  157. 
Clamshell  reach,  17. 
Clamshells,  colors  of,  376,  377. 
Clark,  Brooks,  134. 
Cledonia,  324. 
Clematis  Virginiana,  228. 
Clergy,  442. 
Clethra,  233. 


INDEX. 


463 


Cliffs,  17,  70,  97,  101,  152,  191.  257, 

343,  364,  388,  422. 
Clock,  57. 
Clothes,  403. 
Cloud,  96,  117,  257,  258,  269,  270, 

294,  328,  358,  359,  406,  427,  428, 

429,  437. 
Clover,  198. 
Clowns,  457. 

Cobwebs,  183,  184,  185,  190,  381. 
Cochituate,  230. 
Cocks,  51,  52,  183,  319, 385. 
Cocoanut,  203. 
Cocoons,  440,  445. 
Coincidences,  309. 
Colburn  farm  woodlot,  335. 
Cold,  52,  329,  445. 
Color,  147,  158,  308,  359,  366,  367, 

383,  384,  456. 
Comet,  52,  74,  197. 
Comfort,  327. 
Committee,  362. 
Common-sense,  217. 
Communities,  126. 
Companion,  235. 
Conant's  grove,  33. 
Conant's  meadow,  8. 
Coiiantum,  7,  8,  33,  34,  66,  86,  126, 

154,  169,  189,  256,  296,  308,  413. 
Conantum  Cliff,  8. 
Concord  River,  157. 
Concord  woods,  372. 
Connecticut,  301. 
Conversation,  444. 
Copan,  347. 

Corner  spring,  66,  77   109. 
Cornus  florida,  221,  222. 
Corydalis,  55. 
Cottages,  398. 
Country,  457. 
Country  tavern,  450. 
Country  towns,  449. 
Cowpath,  371. 
Cows,  72. 

Cranberries,  183,  299. 
Creeds,  365. 
Cress,  311. 
Cricket-frog,  27. 
Crickets,  21,  22,  23,  28,  96, 181,  189, 

230,  246,  256,  258, 276. 
Crotalaria,  58. 
Crowfoot,  297. 

Crows,  333, 337,  347,  409,  458. 
Crystallization,  434,  435. 
Currency,  348. 

DANDELION,  33,  79,  108,  189,  211, 

239,  279,  318,  404. 
Days  ripened  like  fruits,  3. 


Deafness,  268. 

Deep  cut,  17,  107. 

Deer-mouse,  368. 

Dennis's  Hill,  83,  85. 

De  Quincey,  255. 

Descriptions,  104,  105,  106. 

Desmodium,  38,  39,  53. 

Desmodium  paniculatum,  38. 

Desmodium  rotundifolium,  38. 

Desor,  297. 

Dew,  300,  301. 

Dicksonia  fern,  10,  66,  125. 

Diet,  378,  379. 

Dipper,  30,  31,  290. 

Discourse  with  nature,  55. 

Discovery,  333. 

Diver,  Great  Northern,  251,  252. 

Dog,  90. 

Dogwood,  16. 

Domestication,  191. 

Donati,  285. 

Douglas,  266. 

Doves,  191,  192,  270. 

Down  on  plants,  307,  308,  314. 

Drawings,  409,  410. 

Dreamland,  309. 

Dreams,  19,150, 151,175,176, 318, 343. 

Driftwood,  131,  132,  139. 

Druids,  442. 

Ducks,  30,  31,  161,  169,  170,  371. 

Dudley  Pond,  239. 

Dumb-bells,  94. 

Duty,  10. 

EAGLE  Head,  4. 
East  India  Marine  Hall,  9. 
Easterbrook,  2,  94,  134,  136. 
Elephant,  193. 
Elms,  41,  79,  99,  441. 
Eloquence,  291,  292. 
Emerson,  Miss  Mary,  264,  265. 
Emerson,  R.  W.,  362,  381,  382,  420, 

421. 

Emerson's  Cliff,  18. 
Emmonds,  372. 
Employment,  425. 
Encouragement,  383,  427. 
English  plants,  181. 
Enjoyment,  316. 
Entertainment,  81. 
Enthusiasm,  36,  37. 
Euphorbia  heptagona,  419. 
Evergreens,  234,  290. 
Everlasting,  19,  48,  368. 
Ex-plenipotentiary,  2. 
Eye,  38,  56,  147. 

FACES,  59. 

Facts,  51, 189,  237. 


464 


INDEX. 


Fair  Haven.  182,  249.  335,  398,  404, 

406,  432. 

Fair  Haven  Bay,  222. 
Fair  Haven  Hill,  39, 52,  80,  112,  239, 

257,  261,  357,  358,  406,  423,  452, 

454. 

Fair  Haven  lot,  397. 
Fair  Haven  Pond,  41,  53,  75,  101, 

102,  113,  191,  309,  391,  394. 
Fairies,  69,  71. 
Falcons,  192. 
Fall,  161. 
Farmer,  Jacob,  226,  227,  242,  336, 

401. 

Farmer,  365,  366,  375. 
Farmer's  life,  60,  61,  62,  316,  332. 
Farmer's  pleasure,  232. 
Farming,  178,  179. 
Feminine  gender,  442. 
Fern,  climbing,  322,  354. 
Fern,  Dicksonia,  10,  66,  125. 
Fern,  sweet,  289,  307,  314,  397. 
Fern  tree,  20. 

Ferns,  20,  24,  67,  68,  186,  187,  211. 
Fields,  295,  377. 
Finches,  189. 
Fine  days  precious,  212. 
Fire,  377,  432. 
Fishermen,  75,  76,  139,  141. 
Fishes,  362. 
Fishing,  64,  65. 
Fitchburg  Railroad,  410. 
Flannery,  295. 
Flies,  42. 

Flint's  Bridge,  35. 
Flint's  Pond,  57,  92, 110,  142. 
Flood,  232. 
Flower  cups,  433. 
Flowers,  70,  79,  108,  318,  386. 
Forest,  58. 
Fossil  turtle,  9. 
Fox,  331,  400,  427. 
Fragrance,  11. 
Fragrant  thoughts,  125. 
Frame  of  landscape,  222,  223. 
Friend,  91,  126,  129,  197,  206,  207, 

389,  419. 

Friends,  321,  322,  444. 
Friendship,  118,  207. 
Fringed  gentian,   16,  94,   119,  206, 

356. 

Fringilla  hiemalis,  17,  157,  383. 
Fringilla  linaria,  37,  452,  453. 
Frogs,  186,  200. 
Frost,  95,  426. 
Frost  weed,  154. 
Frost  work,  337,  338. 
Fruits,  320,  321,  325. 
Fuel,  140,  141,  142,  216,  241,  242, 

342. 


Fugitive  slave,  49,  50. 
Fuller,  Margaret,  265,  421. 
Fungus,  93,  104, 220. 
Fungi,  218. 
Furness,  302. 
Furniture,  57. 

GARDEN  of  Eden,  220. 

Gavel,  61. 

Geese,  146,  161,  231,  232,  250,  265, 

269,  294,  312,  320,  327,  356,  357, 

426,  427. 
Genius,  217,  373. 
Gentian,  16,  35,  94,  119,  206,  356. 
Gentian  Lane,  35. 
Gentlemen,  133. 
Gerard,  5,  106. 
Gerard's  Herbal,  441,  442. 
Gerardia  purpurea,  54,  70. 
Gesta  gallorum,  385. 
Giant,  162. 
Gloucester,  48,  49. 
Glow-worms,  256,  257,  318,  340. 
Gold,  294. 
Golden  eggs,  90. 
Golden-rod,  42,  46,  70,  79,  152,  239, 

318. 

Goldfinches,  114. 
Goodwin,  John,  139,  140,  141,  215, 

216,  251,  380. 
Goose  Pond,  328. 
Gossamer,  183,  184,  185,  190,  277. 
Grackles,  47,  68. 
Granite,  100. 
Grape  Cliff,  38. 
Grass,  118,  182,  189,  228,  246,  295, 

368. 

Grasshoppers,  197,  276. 
Great  Fields,  35,  58,  294. 
Great  Meadows,  79,  413. 
Grebe,  290. 
Greeley,  303. 
Green  mountains,  131. 
Grisi,  303. 
Grist-mill,  381. 
Grossbeak,  415. 
Ground  nuts,  40. 
Growth,  222. 

HADEN'S,  152,  366. 
Halo,  308. 
Happiness,  280. 
Hard  times,  108. 
Hardback  seeds,  447. 
Harper's  Magazine,  300. 
Harris,  Dr.,  340. 
Harvest  time,  109. 
Hat,  386. 

Hawks,  16,  29,  30,  192,  255,455,456, 
456. 


INDEX. 


465 


Hazel,  159,  315,  367. 

Health,  296. 

Hell,  451. 

Hemlocks,  164,  165,  210,  211,  226, 

240. 

Hermann,  282. 
Herons,  156,  193. 
Heywood's  Peak,  57. 
Heywood's  Pond,  411. 
Hickesee,  349. 
Hickories,  37,  65,  364. 
Hieracium  Canadense,  53. 
Hill,  71,  346,  458. 
HiUs,  371,  373. 
Historical  facts,  29. 
Hoar  frost,  338. 
Holden  swamp,  275,  391,  413. 
Holden  wood,  68. 
Home,  454. 
Homer,  380. 
Homes,  60,  61. 
Honey,  338. 
Hooper,  Harry,  223. 
Hoosac  mountains,  131. 
Hop  hornbeam,  159. 
Horizon,  249. 
Hornbeams,  364. 
Hornets'  nest,  15,  34. 
Horse,  55. 

Horse  chestnuts,  173. 
Hosmer,  Mr.  Edmund,  309. 
Hosraer,  Mr.  Joseph,  267,  268,  299, 

344. 

Hosmer's  field,  311. 
Hosmer's  meadow,  227,  277. 
Hour  variously  spent,  242. 
Houses,  34. 

Houstonia,  37,  79,  198,  217. 
Howell,  Francis,  198. 
Hubbard,  Cyrus,  365. 
Hubbard's  bridge,  283,  391,  399. 
Hubbard's  Close,  328. 
Hubbard's  Grove,  108. 
Hubbard's  woods,  250,  255,  369. 
Hubbardston,  131. 
Huckleberries,  8,  79,  307. 
Hylodes,  57,  144,  258,  319,  363. 
Hypericum,  54,  210. 


ICE,  316,  317,  384,  391,  407,  433,  434, 

448. 

Ice  crystals,  408,  409,  435,  458. 
Ice  foliage,  339. 
Ichthyolites,  32. 
Illusion,  206,  207. 
Imagination,  403. 
Imaginings,  195,  196,  197. 
Indian  books,  355. 
Indian  gouge,  83,  84. 


Indian  mind,  148. 
Indian  relics,  173. 
Indian  summer,  102,  103,  110  181, 

197,  226,  233,  290,  319,  325,  394, 

408,423. 

Indians,  297,  298,  344,  402. 
Insane  man,  381. 
Inspection,  197. 
Irishman,  402,  403. 

JAY,  16,  73,  205,  206,  226,  229,  236, 

245,  246,  279,  371. 
Jenny's  desert,  20. 
John's-wort,  286. 
Journal,  280. 
Joy,  383. 
Juniper  repens,  39. 

KALMIA  glauca,  391. 
Keyes,  John,  362. 
Kirby  and  Spence,  184,  185 
Knowledge,  31,  38. 

LABAUME,  288. 

Labor,  298. 

Lake  Superior  Indians,  297,  298. 

LambkiH,' 35,  37. 

Landscape,  80,    81,    191,  330,  364, 

412. 

Larks,  20,  68,  79,  199,  411. 
Last  words,  379. 
Laurus  sassafras,  86. 
Law,  99,  100. 
Leaves,  163,  200,  252,  259,  295,  312, 

365,  391. 

Leaves  of  oaks,  295,  367. 
Leaves  of  trees,  88, 109. 
Leaves,  radical,  285,  286. 
Lecture,  390,  391. 
Lecturer,  449. 
Ledum  swamp,  115,  276. 
Lee's  Bridge,  7,  282. 
Lee's  Cliff,  37,  283,  396. 
Lee's  farm  swamp,  85,  186. 
Lee's  hillside,  87. 
Leisure,  260. 
Le  Jeune,  113. 
Lespedeza,  307,  314,  448. 
Lesson,  252. 
Library,  350. 

Lichens,  211,  213,  323,  324,  367,  450. 
Life,  124,  146,  193,  219,  245,  319. 
Life  a  failure,  347. 
Life,  springs  of,  96,  400. 
Life  in  winter,  100. 
Life-everlasting,  70,  246,  279,  286. 
Light,   98,   117,  120,  170,  171,  248, 

256,  289,  307,  312,  345,  388. 
Lily,  354. 


466 


INDEX. 


Linaria  Canadensis,  314. 

Lincoln,  445. 

Lincoln  Bridge,  379,  404,  410, 411. 

Lincoln  Hills,  9. 

Linnaeus,  273,  282,  285. 

Linnets,  414. 

Lion,  36. 

Littorales,  294. 

Living,  219. 

Locust,  87. 

Loon,  57,  251. 

Loring's  Pond,  448. 

Lotus,  302. 

Love,  272,  323. 

Lover,  3. 

Ludwigia,  448. 

Luxuries,  333. 

Lyceum  lectures,  274,  275. 

Lycoppdiums,  187. 

Lygodium  palmatum,  322,  354. 

Lynx,  9. 

Lynx,  Canada,  39,  121,  347,  348. 

MACHINE  work,  129. 

Magazines,  284. 

Maiden,  217,  252. 

Maiden-hair  fern,  69. 

Malthus,  304. 

Man,  191,  192. 

Man's  nature,  419. 

Man's  worth,  303. 

Manchester,  4. 

Manners,  58,  65. 

Maples,  8,  21,  28,  37,  41,  53,  57,  79, 

89,  102,  148,  169,  297,  345. 
Marlboro'  road,  83,  84,  247. 
Marsh-hawk,  21,  89, 171,  172,  306. 
Martin,  192. 
Maynard's,  315,  316. 
Meadow  grass,  169, 170. 
Meadow-sweet,  447. 
Meadows,  346. 
Meander,  117. 
Medeola  berries,  25. 
Melody,  298. 
Melvin,  375,  380,  423. 
Melvin's  Preserve,  9. 
Memorial  book,  313. 
Men,  153. 

Merrick's  pasture,  21,  35,  399. 
Merrimack,  117. 
Migration,  270. 
Migratory  birds,  156,  157. 
Miles,  C.,  232. 

Miles,  Martial,  306,  437,  438. 
Miles  Swamp,  29,  275. 
Milkweed,  143. 
Mill,  cobweb  drapery  of,  128. 
Miller,  Hugh,  32,  33. 
Min,  385. 


Ministerial  lot,  292. 

Ministerial    Swamp,   19,    136,    304, 

322. 

Mink,  265,  266,  372,  401. 
Minott,  55,  57,  61,  62,  63,  223,  226, 

250,  255,  256,  355,  376,  380,  417, 

418. 

Minott,  George,  309,  376. 
Minott's  house,  334,  335. 
Mint,  148. 

Mole  crickets,  22,  27,  29. 
Monadnock,  25,  26. 
Moods,  209,  210. 
Moon,  260. 
Moonlight,  376. 
Moore's  Swamp,  57. 
Moose,  193. 
Moses,  281. 
Moss,  169,  227,  234,  293,  324,  363, 

364. 

Motion,  439. 
Mountain,  131,  176,  177. 
Mountain  ash,  16,  181. 
Mountain  peak,  25,  26. 
Mountains,  130,  131,  143,  214,  215, 

263,  264,  301. 
Mouse,  297,  385. 
Mouse-ear  chickweed,  318. 
Mulleins,  279. 
Munroe,  J.  &  Co.,  163,  339. 
Mus  leucopus,  276. 
Music,  35,  36,  97,  119,  120,  252,  291, 

378. 

Musical  sand,  4. 
Musketaquid,  117,  174,  193. 
Muskrats,  371,  372,  373,  376,  452. 
Muskrats'  diet,  354. 
Muskrats'  houses,  77,  78,  79,  111, 

116,   118,  218,  224,  225,  228,  239, 

240,  249,  250,  251,  255. 
Mussels,  78. 
Myrtle  birds,  137. 

NAMES,  273. 

Nashua  river,  449. 

Nature,  76,  77,  180,   212,  213,  234, 

436,  454. 

Nature,  changes  in,  204. 
Nature  genial  to  man,  315. 
Nature,  gradation  in,  266. 
Nature,  home  in,  258. 
Nature  the  only  panacea,  13. 
Nature,  phases  of,  11. 
Nature  serene,  433. 
Nature,  success  of,  415. 
Nature's  pensioners,  134, 135,  136. 
Nawshawtuck,  3,  174,  198. 
Neighbors,  169,  379. 
New  Bedford,  407. 
New  England,  402. 


INDEX. 


467 


New  England  winter  sunsets,  433. 

Night,  G9,  85,  159. 

Night-shade,  47,  48. 

Non-producers,  5,  6. 

North  America  discovered,  30. 

"  North  American  Review,"  404. 

Northeast  storm,  14G,  156. 

Novelty,  195,  196. 

November,  158,  183,  189,  191,  196, 

233,  262,  269,  270,  295,  297,  314. 
November  afternoon,  261,  290,  307, 

328. 

November  evening,  194,  195. 
November  in  New  England,  402. 
Nut  meadow,  409. 
Nuthatch,  236,  335,   369,  370,   388, 

389,  435. 

OAK,  black,  114, 148,  346. 

Oak  leaves,  59,  114,   122,  204,  297, 

308,  345,  346,  364,  384,  436,  451. 
Oak,  red,  114, 148,  201,  202. 
Oak,  scarlet,  114. 
Oak,  white,  114,  138,  139,  148,  346. 
Oak  wood,  236,  346. 
Oaks,  37,  146, 169,  315,  323,  373. 
Oar,  147. 
Obstacles,  159. 
October,  143,  312. 
Old  shoes,  399. 
Olive  oil,  338. 
Order  or  system,  106. 
Osmundas,  66. 

Otters,  tracks  of,  392,  393,  408. 
Out-doors,  212. 
Owls,   86,   165,   166,   167,   168,   405, 

437. 

Owl's  nest,  275. 
Oxen,  366. 
Oyster,  398. 

PAGODA,  18. 

Pails,  128, 129. 

Panicum  crus-galli,  23. 

Panicum  filiforme,  23. 

Panicum  sanguinale,  23. 

Partridge,  229,  231,   293,  352,   388, 

409,  413,  448. 
Partridge  berries,  311. 
Partridge  berry  leaves,  279. 
Party,  267,  268. 
Passenger  pigeon,  30. 
Peabody,  70. 
Pears,  6,  95,  96. 
Peculiarity,  418. 
Pelagii,  294. 
Pelham's  Pond,  111. 
Pencils,  299,  300. 
Pennyroyal,  399. 
Pestle,  344. 


Peterboro'  Hills,  263. 

Philadelphia,  302. 

Philosophy,  437,  438. 

Phosphorescent  wood,  63,  64,  74. 

Pickerel,  183,  278. 

Pickerel  fisher,  396. 

Picture-frame,  204,  205,  406. 

Pigweed,  23. 

Pilgrims,  39,  401. 

Pine  Hill,  58,  110,  212,  214,  328,  330, 

354. 

Pine  log,  355. 
Pine  needles,  18,  115,  401. 
Pine  roots  and  knots,  399. 
Pine  warblers,  68. 
Pine  wood,  109,  309,  346,  419,  443, 

444. 
Pines,  37,  57,  146,  148,  192,  193,  226, 

283,  343,  419. 
Pines,  pitch,  53,  87,  109,  139,  152, 

443,  450. 
Pines,  white,  52,  109,  191,  198,  247, 

256,  312,  314,  353,  456,  457. 
Pitch-pine  cones,  269, 306. 
Pitcher  plant,  33,  34,  275,  283. 
Plants,  70,  386,  387. 
Pliny,  274. 
Ploughing,  243, 244. 
Ploughman,  305. 
Plymouth  plantation,  401. 
Poet,  192,  204,  304,  319,  322. 
Poetry,  360. 

Poetry,  ancient  Scotch,  261. 
Poetry,  English,  349. 
Poet's  life,  161, 162. 
Poet's  thoughts,  294. 
Politics,  244. 

Polygonum  articulatum,  20. 
Polygonum  aviculare,  198. 
Polygonums,  84. 
Polygula  sanguinea,  108. 
Polypody,  199,  200,  201,  220,  221. 
Pond,  237,  357,  383,  396,  404,  405. 
Pontederia,  239,  240. 
Poplar  Hill,  79,  102,  215. 
Poplars,  37. 

Populus  grandidentata,  41,  312. 
Populus  tremuloides,  354,  364. 
Porter,  Commodore,  321. 
Potatoes,  219,  220,  287. 
Potentilla  argentea,  239,  318. 
Potentilla  Canadensis,  35. 
Poverty,  265. 
Pratt,  Minott,  356. 
Prayer,  100,  369. 
Preacher,  281,  284. 
Preaching,  283,  284. 
Presents,  220. 
Priest,  442. 
Primrose,  286. 


468 


INDEX. 


Prinos  berries,  53,  233. 
Prinos  verticillata,  297. 
Prosperity,  13. 
Providence,  390. 
Public  opinion,  94. 
Puffballs,  71,  72. 
Puffer,  380. 
Pyramids,  303. 

QUAIL,  401. 
Questions,  122. 

RABBIT,  85,  86,  187,  293,  324,  325, 

336,  413. 

Railway  journeys,  301,  302. 
Rainbow,  257. 
Rana  palustris,  11,  27. 
Rana  sylvatica,  11. 
Ranunculus  bulbosus,  305. 
Ranunculus  repens,  79,  239,  318. 
Redpolls,  404,  413-416. 
Redwings,  47,  68. 
Reflections,  406,  412,  434,  441. 
Reflections  in  water,  183,  199,  202, 

238,  319,  373,  374. 
Regrets,  260. 
Reminiscence,  153,  154. 
Repentance,  411. 
Rhexia,  53. 

Rice,  286,  287,  288,  380. 
Richardson,  376,  380,  397. 
Ripe,  259. 

Rising  generation,  223. 
River,  7,  111,  112,  119,  147,  157,  160, 

182, 1 83, 190,  249,  283, 339, 370, 371, 

372,  384,  388,  389,  400,  434, 458. 
River  scenery,  8. 
Robin,  198. 
Rocks,  201,  211,274. 
Roots,  354,  355. 
Rose,  422. 
Routine,  416. 
Ruskin,  180. 
Ruskin's  "  Modern  Painters,"  76. 

8 ,  a  poor  boy,  402,  403. 

Sabbath,  281. 
Safford,  162, 
Saffron-Walden,  376. 
Salamander,  390. 
Sanborn,  426. 
Sand,  98. 
Sand  banks,  108. 
Sarracenia  purpurea,  33. 
Sassafras,  86,  88. 

Saw  Mill  Brook,  24,  209,  210,  310. 
Science,  105,  131,  361,  374. 
Science,  man  of,  221. 
Scott's  "  Lady  of  the  Lake  "  quoted, 
254. 


Screech-owl,  5,    86,   165,  166,  167, 

168. 

Seasons,  74,  154,  157, 158,  289,  432. 
Second  Division  Brook,  136. 
Seeds  transported  by  birds,  2. 
Selectmen,  363. 
Salf  knowledge,  182. 
Sentences,  254. 
Serenity,  270. 
Shad-bush,  103,  227,  228. 
Shad  frogs,  79. ' 
Shakespeare,  161,  380. 
Shattuck,  376. 
Shells,  294. 

Shepherd's  purse,  318,  394. 
Shiners,  58,  59. 
Shrub  oak,  309,  314,  345,  368,  369, 

397,  445,  446,  456. 
Shrub  oak  leaves,  87,  327,  367,  383, 

445,  446,  447. 

Shrub  oak  plain,  17,  102,  308,  456. 
Shrubs,  buds  on,  393. 
Shrubs  reflected,  82,  83. 
Side-saddle  flower,  33. 
Side  view,  221. 
Sight,  195. 
Silence,  435,  439. 
Sin,  260,  291. 

Skating,  391,  394,  395,  400.  452,  458. 
Skeleton,  374. 
Skies,  285. 
Skinner,  340. 
Skins,  393. 

Skunk  cabbage,  187,  188, 189,  398. 
Sky,  changes  of,  428,  429. 
Small  things,  83. 
Smith's  Hill,  24,  25,  404. 
Smoke,  59,  60,  61,  79,  102,  272,  315. 
Snake,  22,  23,  87. 
Snapdragon,  Canada,  113. 
Snapping  turtle's  eggs,  285. 
Snipes,  157,  159. 
Snow,  113,  158,  230,  243,  346,  317, 

318,  323,  324,  398,  443,  451. 
Snowbirds,  328,  366. 
Snow-buntings,  227,  347,   409,   423, 

424. 

Snow-fleas,  161,  183,  394,  409, 440. 
Snowstorm,  341,  359. 
Social  virtues,  144. 
Society,  401,  419. 
Solanum,  dulcamara,  23,  24. 
Solidago  caesia,  46. 
Solidago  speciosa,  54. 
Solomon's  seal,  25. 
Song-sparrow,  79,  407. 
Sortes  Virgilianse,  421. 
Sounds,  101. 
Space,  407. 
Spanish  book,  212. 


INDEX. 


409 


Sparrows,  23,  68,  70,  126,  127,  157, 

158,  189,  230,  305,  328,  407. 
Spear-head,  372. 
Species,  298. 
Speculations,  394. 
Speech,  freedom  of,  284. 
Spencer,  Brook,  59. 
Spiders,  133,  184,  185,  186,  275. 
Spine,  419. 
Sprague,  308. 
Sprengel,  438. 

Spring,  91,  159,  160,  370,  371. 
Spring,  a  second,  35,  144,  279,  319. 
Spruce  swamp,  413. 
Squash,  6. 
Squirrel,  73,  74,  155,  211,  230,  231, 

236,  299,  352,  353,  369,  458. 
Star,  159,  336. 
Statements,  188, 189. 
Stellaria  media,  318. 
Stillness,  228,  229,  405. 
Still  water,  111,  120. 
Stranger,  144. 
Stream,  ascent  and  descent  of,  202, 

203. 

Stumps,  169, 215,  216. 
Succory,  20,  53,  108. 
Sudbury,  314,  316. 
Sudbury  men,  316. 
Sumac,  16,  448. 
Summer,  394. 
Summer  duck,  240,  241. 
Sun,  reflected  heat  of,  22. 
Sunlight,  289. 
Sun-sparkles,  229. 
Sunset,  3,  17,  90,  112,  152,  214,  259, 

311,  327,  330,  331,  345,  388,  429. 
Sunsets,  New  England  winter,  433. 
Superstition,  421,  425. 
Swallow,  192, 242,  243. 
Swallow  holes,  383. 
Swallows'  nests,  304. 
Swamp,  33,  186,  187,  231,  232,  331, 

387,  425. 

Swamp  Bridge  Brook,  174,  319. 
Swamp  pink,  233,  283,  364,  413. 
Swamp  pyrus,  233,  413. 
Sweetbriar,  86. 

Sweet  fern,  289,  307,  314,  397. 
Sword,  9. 
Syriaca,  143. 

TAHATAWAN,  174,  360. 

Tansy,  108,  239,  268, 294,  318,  422. 

Tarbell's,  332,  371. 

Tastes,  155. 

Tears,  248. 

Teeth,  381. 

Telegraph  harp,  107. 

Tent,  18. 


Thanksgiving  afternoon,  331. 

Theme,  124,  125. 

Theophrastus,  274. 

Therien,  250. 

Thhnbleberry  shoots,  213,  330,  368. 

Thinking.  280. 

Thistles,  149. 

Thoughts,  158,  212,  262,  333,  334. 

Thoughts,  old  ruts  of,  12,  418. 

Threshing,  61. 

Ticks,  38,  39. 

Tiger,  316. 

Toad-flax,  314. 

Tools,  287. 

Tortoise,  3,  79,  412. 

Touch-me-not  seed  vessels,  24. 

Tournefort,  282. 

Towns,  367. 

Tracks,  384,  385,  408. 

Trade,  140. 

Trail,  341. 

Travel,  304. 

Tree  fern,  20. 

Tree,  injury  to,  145. 

Tree  sparrows,   103,  181,   199,  328, 

340,  383,  401,  413. 
Treetoads,    153. 
Trees,  210,  222,  338,  377,  379. 
Trees,  character  of,  41. 
Trees,  dead,  431. 
Trichostema  dichotomum,  399. 
Truth,  189,  203,  218, 260,  422. 
Turnips,  311. 
Turtle-dove,  25. 
Twilight,  374,  412. 

UNCANNOONUC,  243. 
Undulations.  439,  440. 

VALOR,  342,  343. 

Valparaiso  squash,  321. 

Values,  348,  349. 

Vanessa  Antiopa,  197. 

Vapor,  107,  428,  429,  438. 

Varro,  148. 

Verses,  223,  224,  253,  297,  351,  352. 

Vestiges  of  creation,  33. 

Vice  an  aid  to  success,  1. 

Viola  lanceolata,  57. 

Viola  ovata,  79,  108. 

Viola  pedata,  230,  237. 

Violet,  hood-leaved,  35. 

Violets,  35,  237,  279, 422. 

Virgin's  Bower,  228. 

Visiting,  65,  386. 

WACHUSETT,  131,  354,  359. 
Walden,  57,  110,  152,  209,327,354, 

357,  360,  3G5,  399,  400,  436,  441, 

447. 


470 


INDEX. 


Walden  in  Essex,  376. 

Walden  Pond,  37,   42,  82,  83,  214, 

226,  253,  380. 
Walk,  235,  328,  329. 
Walking,  328,  329. 
Walnuts,  148,  173. 
Ware,  Dr.,  Jr.,  208,  209. 
Wasps,  42. 
Water,  160,  373. 
Water  bugs,  95. 

Water  the  centre  of  landscape,  102. 
Water,  colors  of,  152. 
Waterloo,  6. 

Weather,  92,  93,  225,  269,  314,343. 
Weeds,  6. 
"  Week  on  the  Concord  and  Merri- 

mack  Rivers,"  163. 
Weird  Dell,  358. 
Well  Meadow  Brook,  283. 
Well  Meadow  Field,  358. 
Weston,  Mr.,  326. 
Whale,  193. 

Wheeler's  pasture,  305,  307. 
Wheeler's  Owl  wood,  358. 
Whippoorwill,  70. 
White  mountains,  71. 
White  pine  needles,  18. 
White  Pond,  108. 
White-weed,  113. 
Wild  apples,  212. 
Wild-cat,  340. 
Wild  flowers,  7. 
Wild  pig,  313, 314. 
Williams,  Henry,  49. 
Williams,  Oliver,  223. 
Willow  Bay,  115. 
Willow  catkins,  297. 
Willows,  182, 184,  354. 
Wind,  35,  71,  253,  330,  332. 
Wind,  self-registering,  208. 
Window,  214,  337,  338,  354. 


Winter,  158,  161,  244,  249,  346,  395, 

396,  415,  416. 
Winter,  love  for,  389. 
Winter  day,  459. 
Winter  eve,  406. 
Winter  evening,  436,  437. 
Winter  morning,  443. 
Winter  scenes,  125,   324,  326,   357, 

358, 359. 

Winter  sky,  389. 
Winter  walk,  427. 
Winter  weather,  332. 
Wisdom,  36,  317. 
Wise,  the  balloonist,  428. 
Wishes,  420. 

Witherel  Glade,  117,  277. 
Wolves,  336,  337. 
Women,  265,  267. 
Woodbine,  29. 
Wood-choppers,  293,  388,  405,  407, 

437,  451,  456,  458. 
Woodchuck,  69. 
Woodcock,  159,  310,  311. 
Wooden  trays,  128, 129. 
Wood-lot,  379,  417,  418. 
Wood-path,  366. 
Woodman,  293. 
Woodpecker,  407,  409,  432. 
Woods,  85,  203,  204,  271,  326,  397. 
Woods,  drama  in,  279. 
Words,  207. 
Wordsworth,  293. 
World,  beauty  of,  416,  417. 
Wormwood,  368. 
Writer,  456. 
Writing,  331,  444. 
Wyman,  John,  223. 

YARROW,  108,  211,  239,  268,  294,  318. 
Young  men,  453,  454. 
Youth,  322. 


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